He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, warm fingertips were moving over his chest, bringing an electric tingle that jolted through him.
"Hello, Paris," he heard, and the words alone offered more pleasure, more strength, than he'd experienced in days.
How much time had passed, he didn't know. He only knew that when he pried his eyes open, Sienna was hovering over him, hazel eyes unsure. She'd taken off her glasses. The room was dimmed, not bright like it usually was, surrounding her in shadows.
But he could see that she was dressed exactly as she'd been before: baggy, bland clothing and hair pulled into a severe twist. She exuded a vulnerability he wanted to exploit as she jerked her hand away from him.
She wrung her fingers together in apparent nervousness.
"Come to pleasure me, did you?" he sneered before he could stop himself.
Her cheeks pinkened, and she looked away. "If you'd rather have someone else, I can leave."
"You'll do," he said, and breath hitched in her throat. He hoped his words hurt her. He hoped she hurt for a long, long time. "You realize this makes you their whore, right? Screwing a man for your friends, for a cause, for money even, since I'm sure you're on their payroll." Shut up! Don't push her away.
Her lips thinned as she eyed him again and whatever she saw on his face made her already fair skin pale. Once more, she lowered her gaze. This time, however, she began to back away. "I wouldn't have come if I wasn't attracted to you."
"A Hunter attracted to a Lord. How sad for you."
There was a heavy pause.
Just shut the hell up, man. Before you make her leave. You need her body, not her anger—not yet. "I'm sorry," he forced himself to say. "Sienna."
Shock parted her lips and she gasped, gaze flicking to him, staying. "You know my name."
"Of course. Like you, I'm attracted. Despite everything." Sadly, that was not a lie. Stupid demon.
She was shaking as she changed her direction and approached him. There was true desire in her hazel eyes, just as there had been the first time he'd seen her. Paris could feel his dick hardening, rising for her. Still a little vindictive, he tried to stop it. The situation was dangerous, but he wanted to make her work for it.
She reached his bed, stopped and licked her lips.
"Unchain me," he croaked out.
"I was told not to," she replied softly.
"Are they watching?"
She shook her head. "I asked them to turn off the cameras, and they agreed."
So naive she was, he found himself thinking again. He nearly rolled his eyes. No way would Hunters have willingly denied themselves the opportunity to observe the likes of him in action. They were watching. He didn't like the thought of them seeing Sienna pleasure him, but he would deal.
"Unchain me, then. They'll never know."
"I…can't."
Well, it had been worth a try. "So what are you waiting for, Sienna? Let's finish what we started at the café."
REYES HADN'T NEEDED AERON'S location e-mailed to him. The bodies left a trail. Death and destruction accompanied Wrath everywhere he traveled and that saddened Reyes, because he knew if Aeron had been in his right mind, he would have been disgusted with himself.
As I am with myself.
For years Reyes had hovered near moral collapse, hating himself for the things he had to do to appease his demon. Killing innocents, torturing, destroying entire cities. This was the worst, though, following his friend, a man he loved like a brother. A man who had once helped him learn to control the monster inside him. Because…Reyes swallowed bile. Because he'd decided to kill the obsessed warrior.
I'm more demon than man, that I could contemplate this act, he thought darkly, but didn't change his mind. He'd known it would come to this, choosing between Aeron and Danika. He'd always thought he'd choose his friend. Now, when the decision was upon him, he knew that for the lie it was.
He couldn't abide the thought of Danika being hurt. She was the only thing in the world that gave him pleasure, though she'd never even touched him. He didn't deserve her; she probably wouldn't want him, anyway, but he was going to save her.
Hurry. Find her, get to her.
How? he almost screamed. Reyes was in the States, New York City to be exact, and Aeron's signal was beeping from his phone as if the warrior were flying overhead. But Reyes didn't see or hear him. No flap of wings, no animalistic roar.
All day, news stations had run somber stories of unexplained and violent deaths, of bodies ravaged by claws and teeth that didn't belong to a human. Now Reyes stood on a crowded street, cars honking behind him, people milling along the sidewalk beside him.
Had Aeron already found her? Was he finally sleeping, relaxed and at ease after a month of constant bloodlust?
Reyes barely resisted the urge to grab a mortal and shake, demand, roar.
A body suddenly fell from the night sky, plopping on the ground in front of him. A man. A human. Bloody. Dead. Several people gasped. Some screamed. Muscles tensing, Reyes lifted his gaze skyward. Finally, he caught sight of Aeron, who was grinning down at him tauntingly, wings flapping furiously toward one particular building.
Reyes locked his eyes on his friend—his target—and leapt into motion.
DO I HAVE WHAT IT TAKES to kill?
Danika Ford stared at herself in the dented and chipped bathroom mirror. She'd once considered herself an artist, a painter of—mostly—beautiful things. Everything she'd looked at had been fodder for her art. People: the turn of a wrist, the elegant slope of a back. Animals: fluidity and grace. Flowers: delicate petals and sensual colors.
Now she considered herself a fighter. A survivor.
A—she gulped—killer.
She had to be.
Just over a month ago, she'd been kidnapped while on vacation in Budapest and held hostage by six hulking giants who'd wanted to kill her. They hadn't, though. They hadn't even hurt her, actually, but she'd never felt so helpless, so out of control and desperate. And she refused to feel that way again.
Ever.
Those giants were after her once more; she knew it. Which was why she changed her location every few days. No matter where she was staying, though, she found someone to train her in hand-to-hand combat. She also trained with knives, with guns, with anything she could get her hands on.
Today her newest instructor had knocked her on her ass and told her she lacked the killer instinct required to survive in a life-or-death situation.
Several hot tears rolled down her cheeks now, and she slammed her fist into the glass. It shook but didn't break. Am I so feeble? Maybe her instructor was right. And he didn't even know the half of it. One of her kidnappers, Reyes, still plagued her dreams. She didn't want to hurt him, dark, sensual man that he was. She wanted to kiss him, to finally know his taste, to finally feel his strong arms around her.
Every night she dreamed of him.
"I'm a sick woman."
She stomped to her tiny rented bedroom, fell onto the mattress and picked up her disposable cell. Once she'd lived in a nice, average middle-class apartment, content, comfortable. Now she moved from shacks to motels to cardboard boxes to cars, poor and terrified, constantly looking over her shoulder.
Needing some reassurance, peace, something, she dialed her mother's own disposable cell number. Her entire family was in hiding—the four women separated to make the men's search more difficult—but they left their new numbers with friends and made sure to talk every day.
Her mom answered on the third ring, a sobbing rasp that instantly raised bile to the top of Danika's throat. "What's wrong?" she rushed out.