Wrong Side of Hell (11 page)

The walls of her vagina closed around him, tightly, and she clenched as her whimpers increased. He grimaced as his canines erupted and still her dark eyes watched. She was unafraid. Fearless.

He held her so tight that he knew she’d be bruised in the morning, but there was no going back. When he felt the pressure build—when his body strained and pumped and gripped—he roared and clamped on to her shoulder, biting down hard as the index finger of his right hand burned into her neck.

“Logan!” She screamed his name and he held on as she shuddered against him and climaxed. Still their eyes held. His body emptied into hers and he claimed her in the way of his people. He’d tasted her blood, fed from her soul, and marked her as his.

After several long moments, Logan felt her shudder and go limp in his embrace. He staggered backward and pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead as he did so.

You’re mine, Kira Dove. I’ll kill anyone who would touch you.

Chapter Fifteen

 
I
T WAS DAYLIGHT. The sun found its way through the thin slats of the cheap plastic blinds, and Kira gazed upon Logan’s face. He was asleep, his features softened, younger-looking. Thick coffee-colored hair crept over his eyebrows, and his shadowed beard could give any Hollywood hottie a run for his money.

He slept on his back, one arm flung above this head, the other still across her waist. Even in sleep his possession was absolute.

Kira moved her legs and stifled a groan. After they’d made it to the bed, Logan had proceeded to make love to her for hours. His mouth and tongue, his fingers and cock had given her more pleasure than she thought possible. The things they’d done . . . the things he’d whispered, of pleasures yet to be experienced.

She was sore and blushed at the thought of the tenderness between her thighs. Of the throb at her shoulder where Logan had bit her. She cracked her neck and hissed at the stab of pain there—the one that said she belonged to someone.

Kira Dove had been adrift for years and she’d found harbor in the arms of the beast.

“Are you all right?”

Startled, she glanced up and inhaled sharply as his handsome face came into focus. “I am.” Her brow furled and though she hated the dark thoughts that that lingered, she knew she needed to face them. “So, where do we go from here? I’m on someone’s hit list and I’m assuming my name is still at the top.”

His eyes darkened and he rolled over so that his head was level to hers. His hands crept along her jaw and he held her tenderly, though she sensed the anger that rode beneath his skin.

“No one will ever touch you again. Understand?” He bared his teeth and growled. “No one.”

Kira nodded, but in truth she didn’t really understand. There was so much she didn’t know.

“Last night you said that,” she paused and exhaled. “You said that someone named Bill saved me.” She bit her lip. “I was beaten to death, Logan.” She held her wrists up. “And save for these scars, there’s nothing wrong with me. Hell, the whole gray realm thing is hard enough to fathom, but being dead and then brought back . . .”

Her voice trailed into silence and she let him pull her close. She rested her cheek against his chest, listened to him breathe. Her fingers splayed across him. He was real and she would focus on that.

“Bill is an ancient, powerful creature.” His voice rumbled beneath her and Kira closed her eyes, content to just listen to him. “He’s the one who ordered me to bring you back from the darkness when you were a child. He’s also the one who sent me into the gray realm.”

“Why?”

Logan paused, not really sure what or how much to tell her. “There are forces in this realm and beyond who would like to see your life ended. They fear what you represent.”

God, Kira was so confused. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“Hope.” He said simply.

“Hope.” She angled her head so that she could look into his eyes. They glittered in that intense way that made her catch her breath, and she felt a stirring hardness at her hip.

His hand slid to her lips. “You are the light that will keep the darkness at bay.”

“The light.” She repeated. Okay. “And the child?” The little boy with curls and eyes that looked so much like Logan. Pain lanced across her chest at the thought of him, and her hand fell back, drifting below to cradle her belly. Had they made a child last night? Was it
her
little boy she’d seen in her dreams?

“They would see him never born.”

Kira was silent. She didn’t know what to say to that.

Logan rolled her up onto his stomach and held her gently above him. “I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, and the League is sworn to hold that vow as well.”

“The League?” she asked softly, though in truth she was more focused on her sensitive nipples as they scraped along the rough hair that sprinkled across Logan’s chest. It was an exquisite torture that filled her insides with an all-too-familiar heat.

“A group of warriors who’ve pledged allegiance to Askelon—or Bill, as he wants to be called.”

“Oh.” His eyes were now crimson and his cock was poised between her legs.

“I’ll explain fully later.” A wicked smile crossed his face. “Unless you want the details now?”

Kira groaned and bent her head to claim his mouth. She kissed him long and hard, lips sliding and tongue probing. When she came up for air, she muttered hoarsely. “The details can wait.”

I
T WAS NEARLY dusk when Logan walked down to the common room at The Texan. The gentle swell of voices, the scent of greasy food and stale beer greeted him as he moved into the shadows.

Bill was there. He sensed him.

Logan strode toward the far corner, the one lodged between the ladies’ room and the kitchen. He felt the unmistakable pop of a protection ward as he stepped in front of Askelon.

For a few moments there was nothing but silence. Bill’s dress was muted, his small, round body covered in dull brown from the collar of his shirt with the rhinestone buttons to the tips of his worn boots. It didn’t complement his ruddy complexion but it certainly went with the somber look in his eyes.

“She is yours.”

Logan eyed him and nodded.

Bill cracked a smile, but it was one that remained near his mouth, never reaching the shimmering depths of his eyes. “Good. She belongs with you. I knew this.” Bill looked away, his small hands clenched. “They will search for her.” He glanced back toward Logan. “They won’t stop.”

“I’m taking Kira to my mother’s,” Logan answered quietly.

Bill looked surprised. “This is good. Until I know who hunts Kira Dove, I won’t be able to keep her safe.”

“No one will touch her while she’s there, and I can fulfill my duties to the underworld without drawing attention to myself. The Overlord will never know . . . my father will never know, either.”

Bill nodded, a smile breaking upon his face. “Yes, and she’ll remain untraceable while with your mother. It’s perfect.”

Logan agreed. He turned and gazed out at the room full of humans, and for the first time sensed otherworld. Immediately his senses sharpened. His nostrils flared and he growled softly.

A vampire was in the corner opposite him and Bill. A female. His eyes narrowed and he penetrated the shadows that clung to her. Long auburn hair fell down past her chest and eyes of cerulean blue gazed toward the door. They held pain, want, and need. Her fangs were distended, her hands clenched at her denim-clad sides.

He turned and spied a tall dark-haired man who’d just walked into the place. The scent of magick clung to him. At his side was a blond woman, her arms around his waist as if he belonged to her. A shifter—jaguar, by the smell of him—said something to the sorcerer and headed for the bar.

Logan’s gaze swung back to the vampire, but she was gone, and he realized that Bill was intensely focused on the drama, his strange eyes lingering on the now-empty corner.

“Who the hell is she?”

“Ana is a new protégé.” Bill nodded toward her. “I’m very happy to see she’s just passed an important test. The sorcerer O’Hara is someone who means a lot to her and I wasn’t sure she’d be able to remain hidden with him so close.”

“What would you have done if she’d revealed herself?”

Bill’s eyes narrowed and winter coated his words. “It’s good that she remained hidden.” Bill glanced up at Logan, his eyes hard, unreadable. “The tide is turning and the League needs as many soldiers as we can get, by whatever means we deem necessary.”

Bill drifted from sight but his voice lingered long after, echoing inside Logan’s head.

“Don’t ever doubt the lengths that I will go, to ensure our needs are met.”

Logan blinked and felt a small, soft hand slip inside his. He glanced down at Kira and smiled, feeling his body relax almost immediately. Her blond mess of a head was growing on him.

“Who was that?”

“Bill.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “He’s gone? I would have liked to have met him.” She blushed. “Well, at least, conscious this time.”

Logan turned and locked his eyes onto the sorcerer. The man’s smile faded and Logan sensed the power he held from across the room. “It’s time to go, little Dove.”

Logan and Kira hopped into the stolen SUV and pointed it north. As the Mexican sun reflected into the rearview mirror, Logan looked ahead. He thought of the one who was out there. The one who wouldn’t stop until he had Kira. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard and he accelerated, feeling the need to go as fast as the machine would allow.

“Where are we going?” Kira’s soft voice drew him from his dark thoughts.

Logan replied without skipping a beat. “We’re going home.”

“Home.” She repeated. “I like the sound of that.” She smiled at him and his heart twisted. His body heated with the need to protect. The need to keep this woman safe. “Where is that, exactly?”

He flipped the radio on. “It’s where the sun is endless and the snow is covered in a blanket of diamonds.”

She sighed and slid over until her small body pressed tight to his. “Sounds like heaven.”

Logan smiled but didn’t answer.
Lady, you have no idea.
He increased his speed and hummed along to the strains of Mötley Crüe’s
Shout at the Devil
. How appropriate.

Seconds later only his taillights broke through the dusk, and the clouds of dust that floated above the road rose several feet into the air.

Then there was nothing.

Keep reading for an excerpt from

Wicked Road to Hell,

 
the first full-length novel in

Juliana Stone’s

League of Guardians
series,

available May 2012

wherever books are sold.

Chapter One

 
D
ECLAN O’HARA STEPPED into the middle of the crossroads, a lonely stretch of pavement on the outskirts of town. The moon was barely visible, yet a thin ribbon of light bled through, basking the low-lying fog in an eerie glow.

He glanced to his right as a series of subtle vibrations shot up his legs.

Company was coming.

His hands were loose at his sides and he cracked his neck in an effort to relieve some tension.

Declan smiled in anticipation.
It was about time.

His eyes pierced the gloom. An image wavered and solidified not more than three feet from him and the smile vanished, leaving his expression blank. He studied the newcomer for a few moments, relishing the fear he sensed.

“You’re late.” Declan’s voice was low, the tone conversational, yet the hard glint in his eyes told a different story.

His visitor, a slight imp of a man, took a step backward and shook his head. “I got away as soon as I could.” His voice was thin and there was a nervous edge to it.

Declan paused, welcoming the whisper of magick that rippled over his skin. “Where is he?”

The newcomer swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple protruding in a rapid jerk. “He’s no longer in Los Angeles.”

At Declan’s frown the man continued. “He now has a protector . . . a vampire.”

“A protector?”
Interesting.
“That’s all you got?”

The slight man nodded slowly.

Unbelievable
. Declan swore under his breath and turned away. What a complete waste of time. For fuck sakes, he’d given up a bottle of merlot and a hot blonde for this? His irritation was surpassed only by his desire to get back to the lady and salvage at least part of his evening. He stepped away.

“What about payment?”

Declan paused, letting the energy inside him gather until his fingertips hummed with the heat of his power. He glanced back, eyebrows raised. “Payment? You didn’t give me anything I don’t already know. I wanted the location.”

“But I warned you of the protector—”

He laughed, though he wasn’t amused. “You think I need to be warned?” The ground beneath them trembled and danger swept in on the breeze. Declan was pissed. He had no time for this shit.

“There’s talk . . .” The man licked his lips nervously. “There’s talk that he’s been taken to New Orleans.”

“Fact or fiction?” Declan was fast losing patience. It didn’t take much to trigger his dark side these days.

“I can’t be certain.”

Declan turned once more to face him, his face hard, his eyes cold.

“I risked a lot to come here, to meet with you. If they find out . . .” The small man’s eyes glowed, a tinge of red burning through the gloom as he snarled in anger. “Samael will kill me.”

Declan’s surprise at the informer’s words was kept hidden. Samael? If the demon lord was involved, the game had just changed big-time. Declan’s fingers twitched, his nostrils flared as the energy in his hands sparked.

“What does Samael want with him?”

“I will give you no more.” The informer widened his stance and hissed. “I want payment.”

There it was . . . the trigger.

Declan cocked his head to the side and gave his power free rein. Mist swirled ever faster, hiding the darkness he unleashed. Wind whipped along the surface of the road, moaning as it enveloped the informant in a blanket of death. Seconds later Declan stepped over the still form that lay at his feet.

“Consider that payment rendered.” He grabbed his cell phone and hit redial.

“You get the intel?” Nico’s rough voice filled his ear. The shifter was a jaguar warrior and Declan’s partner.

“I’m headed to Louisiana. I’ll let you know what I find when I get there. We don’t have much time. Samael’s involved now.”

“Samael?” Nico sounded surprised. “That can’t be good. Who the hell
is
this guy we’re tracking? Do we have a name yet?”

Declan’s eyes narrowed. “No name.” He paused as an owl hooted in the distance. “Check out Los Angeles, see if you can pick up his trail or find a bread crumb that’s bigger than a nibble.”

The line went dead.

Guess he was heading to the Big Easy.

D
ECLAN ARRIVED IN New Orleans well past midnight the following evening. The moon was in hiding, the air was cool, and the energy in the city was powerful. Ancient magick lived here, fed not only by the great Mississippi River that slid by in silence, but by the souls of the dead who refused to leave.

It had been ages since he’d last been here. Another lifetime. He shook the melancholy that threatened and sought out the French Quarter. The Voodoo Lounge was located amongst a host of venues on Decatur Street.

Declan headed that way, his tall form sliding amongst the tourists with ease, his dark good looks drawing many a female eye. He ignored them all—even the busty brunette with the large doe eyes and plump, candy red lips.

There wasn’t time for such frivolities when the world was going to shit.

Decatur was party central in the Big Easy, and the heat from the bodies in the streets and sidewalks created a blanket of mist that hovered inches above the crowd, as it mixed with the cooler air.

It was an eerie glow that somehow fit the chaotic undercurrent in the air. It was the chaotic undertone he was worried about. Something was off here in the land of crawdaddies and mint julep. He continued along Decatur until he spied the sign he’d been looking for.

It wasn’t hard to miss, being a shade past puke green with a splash of orange and yellow. THE VOODOO LOUNGE
.
He smiled as he neared the club. He didn’t remember it being so . . . gaudy.

There was a crowd gathered along the sidewalk, and by the looks of it, no one was getting inside. Typical night in the Quarter.

A mountain of flesh guarded the entrance; his bald head and heavy features were intimidating—as were the mess of tattoos that adorned his flesh. His shoulders were as wide as the door, the muscles bulging from beneath a tight t-shirt, and his legs were leather encased, his feet booted.

The dude was otherworld. It was in the energy that slithered along the man’s frame, invisible to the human eye, yet vibrant to someone like the sorcerer.

The bouncer was a shifter, one of Ransome’s clan, no doubt.

Declan nodded. “Nice evening.”

The incredible hulk cocked his head to the side but remained silent.

“Ransome in tonight?”

“Depends”—the bouncer spit to the side—“on who’s asking.”

“An old friend.” Declan flashed a smile that never reached his eyes. “Tell him O’Hara’s in town.”

The bouncer’s eyes narrowed. He turned his head slightly, murmuring as he did so, obviously talking into a com device. Seconds later he stepped aside and Declan was allowed entrance.

The Voodoo Lounge had been in existence for as long as Ransome LaPierre’s family had been in New Orleans, and that had been several generations. It was an eclectic bar filled with all sorts of otherworld and a mixture of human as well. They came together in a melting pot of bodies, music, and sex.

It was the kind of place that easily bred darkness. As Declan eyed the revelers he felt the potency of the energy surround him, and along with it, the familiar tug of want.

The dark side was a seductive bitch. He’d tasted her secrets. And though he was bound to the light, sometimes the lines blurred.

His gaze wandered the room as he slid through the crowd. It was hot, frenetic. He spied Ransome LaPierre immediately. It was hard not to. The alpha of the LaPierre pack was a handsome son of a bitch with a mess of hair the color of dark tobacco. The wolf was holding court in the far corner, surrounded by cheesy velvet sofas, jugs of beer, and—Declan grinned—lots of women.

The werewolf arched a brow and moved two women off his lap, a slow smile spreading across his features as Declan approached.

“You want one?” the wolf asked as Declan approached. He grinned and shoved a tipsy blonde Declan’s way. “Or two?” He nodded toward the brunette and laughed, his N’awlins accent rolling off his tongue with devilish glee. “Bookends, no?”

Declan shook his head, though his eyes lingered on the generous rack that was nearly falling from the lady’s too-small tank top.
Lady
being an extremely loose term.

“We need to talk.” His tone was clipped.

Ransome’s smile faded, and he stood in one fluid motion. The man was tall and had an inch or two on Declan, putting him near six-foot-six.

The blonde stepped in front of Declan, her hand falling to his chest. “What’s the rush, sugar? Don’t you wanna play?” She laughed softly. Her eyes were dilated, filled with the synthetic happiness of whatever kind of drug she’d ingested.

“Not interested.” He removed her hand and followed Ransome, ignoring the expletives she shouted after him. The dense crowd parted like the Red Sea, allowing them easy access to Ransome’s office located on the upper level of the bar.

The door closed behind them, muffling the heavy beat of the band. Declan exhaled slowly and watched as Ransome poured a generous tumbler of bourbon, but declined when the wolf offered him a glass as well.

Ransome smiled lazily, his slow Louisiana drawl falling from his lips like a melody. “So, what brings you back to these parts, my friend?”

“I’m looking for someone.”

Ransome snorted. “Aren’t we all?”

“This one’s special.”

Again the wolf laughed. “Aren’t they all?”

Declan shook his head. “Not like this one.”

The smile that graced the wolf’s face fled immediately and his eyes narrowed. Declan nodded. Now he had his full attention.

Ransome took a long swig of bourbon, hissing as it went down, though his eyes never left Declan’s.

“Where you been for the last two years?”

The wolf’s question took him by surprise, and Declan was silent for several seconds.
To Hell and back
.

“Around,” he answered softly as he eyed the shifter closely.

Ransome smiled though his eyes remained aloof. “It’s a dangerous world, my friend, and we don’t always know who the enemy is. A little elaboration would be welcome.”

Declan didn’t like where the conversation was headed. He had no time for posturing.

“It’s common knowledge you broke ties with the Castille brothers, but the rumors of your whereabouts have been murky at best. You working alone?”

Declan wasn’t surprised at Ransome’s words. The werewolf had always kept a paw on the pulse of the otherworld. “No,” he replied dryly. “I’ve got a new boss.”

An image of Bill flashed in front of his eyes and he clenched his teeth together tightly. The little bastard was one of the Seraphim, angelic creatures who had absolute dominion over the upper realm. They also dipped into the affairs of humanity or wherever else they saw fit.

Two years ago Bill had pulled Declan from the bowels of Hell. Unfortunately his one-way ride out of darkness had come with a price. The Seraphim currently owned Declan’s ass for several lifetimes to come. He was now part of a group of soldiers known as the Seraph. They did the bidding of the Seraphim, no questions asked.

“A name would be good.”

“I don’t have time to play twenty questions, LaPierre.”

The werewolf studied him in silence and a slow burn of frustration hit Declan’s skin.

“What does your boss want with this
person
who’s
different
?”

Declan’s anger spiked and rode the edge of pissed-off. “My new deal doesn’t come with a lot of answers. I do as I’m told and move on.”

LaPierre poured himself another drink, this time not offering the same to Declan.

“Nothing is ever as it seems, O’Hara.”

“No shit,” he answered, his voice tight. “Bill might be an arrogant little prick but he’s Seraphim.”

Ransome’s eyes narrowed at that. “And how’s that going?”

Declan grabbed a decanter of whiskey off the wolf’s shelf and poured himself a double. “Don’t ask.” He downed the contents in one gulp, welcoming the fire as the liquid burned its way down to his gut. “You hear any chatter on the street? Otherworlders new to the area that don’t belong? Or has my trip here been wasted?”

“A trip to Decatur Street is never wasted, O’Hara.”

“Normally I’d agree, but I’ve no time to play and even less time to find this bastard.”

“I might know something.” A lazy grin spread across Ransome’s face, and yet his eyes were dead serious as he focused on Declan.

“Might?” Declan asked.

“I’ve got a couple of conditions.”

Declan eyed his old friend closely. “And they’d be . . .”

“I don’t want a holy war running amok in my backyard. Keep your boss out of my city.”

No worries there. Bill was with Azaiel. He was one of the original Seraphim but had fallen from grace centuries ago, lured from the upper realm by a beautiful eagle shifter.
Dumb fuck.

He’d created a portal that had almost ripped a hole the size of Hell into the human realm. A lot of people had suffered, given their lives in order for the portal to remain hidden. Declan’s own father, Cormac, had tried to get his slimy hands on the damn thing.

Azaiel had languished in the Hell realm for eons, but two years ago he’d been retrieved and now was on trial for his sins.

As far as Declan was concerned, the fallen was going to get what he deserved. Bill would be busy for days.

Declan nodded. “Done, and the second?”

Ransome grabbed a coat from the chair behind his desk. “I’m coming along.”

“Not possible.” Declan shook his head. “I’m working this one alone.”

Ransome ignored him and slipped supple leather over his powerful shoulders. “You forget, sorcerer, that this is my town, and nothing of significance happens without my knowledge or involvement.”

Declan’s lips thinned but he remained silent. He could use dark magick to stop him, Ransome had no idea the kind of power that lived beneath his skin, but he couldn’t deny the wolf was one hell of a tracker.

He nodded and stepped aside, following Ransome out the back door. He’d humor the wolf for the moment.

Besides, Bill would fucking hate the idea.