Azrael's Light [Demon Runners of Unearth] (Siren Publishing Classic) (5 page)

“Alice, look at me. I’ve got you. I promise to keep you safe, no matter what. All you have to do is hold tight to me, and I’ll get you home safe and sound. We’ll take it slow. Come on, girl. I know you must have some sharp claws to go with that razor-sharp tongue of yours. Here’s your opportunity to sink them into me.” He smiled and winked. The streetlight throwing shadows over his close-shaved brown hair and hard jaw did nothing to hide his masculine confidence.

How did a man his size even fit on something with only two wheels? It defied logic. His steady eyes seemed to search inside her to find her fears. A large hand cupped her jaw with a gentle touch. “Trust me. I’ve got you.” His thumb swept a slow graze across her jaw, and then he let go.

He stretched his legs and straddled the beast with an easy familiarity. He patted the miniscule space on the seat behind him and waited with an easy smile.

“I’m not dressed for this. I’ll call a cab. Really, Brick, I’ll be okay. You can go on. I’ll tell Diane you dropped me at my front door like a perfect gentleman.”

“Diane knows I’m not a gentleman. Why do you think she hired me? I’m nothing but muscle and brawn. She’ll know better, and I’m not letting you off the hook. I’ve already seen what’s beneath that skirt. Trust me. There is no reason to hide any part of your body.” Heated appreciation stared back at her through Brick’s warm chocolate eyes. Earlier that night a customer had spilled a beer on her, and she’d gone into the stockroom to change into her spare skirt. She’d moved a box behind the door to block it, but of course Brick hadn’t even noticed the obstacle when he came to check on her.

He’d gotten an eyeful as she stood there in nothing but her tank top and a skimpy pair of purple-lace panties, which she’d only worn because she’d fallen behind on her laundry. He’d also seen her hideous scar. It stretched around her upper thigh and outer hip. The skirts she typically wore barely covered it. The only reason she wore the damn things was because her tips tripled whenever she wore one and she needed every penny she could save.

“Come here.” Quiet, confident, he pulled her closer. “What’s got you scared?” How easy would it be to give her fear to him for a little while? When he looked at her with those heated and solemn eyes, she melted. His hands slid down to rest lightly on her waist.

“You saw my scar? Motorcycles terrify me. The last time I was on one, my boyfriend wrecked it. It took me a year to get over the pain from my injuries and the nightmares.”

His hand dropped to her knee and slid its way up her leg and to her scarred hip. A sly, seductive thumb smoothed over the puckered skin. “Boyfriend? He should have taken better care of you, protected you.”

“It was my ex, Sammy’s father. He’s no longer around.”

“The douchebag who’s in prison? I’m glad he’s not in your picture anymore.” His hand tightened for a moment then loosened and lingered, soothing her.

“I appreciate the offer, truly, but I don’t think I can get on the bike. I’m sorry to cause you trouble, but I need to get home soon. I’ll call your cell when I get home, and I promise not to tell Diane.” The last thing she wanted to do was get him in trouble when he was only being a good guy, but she couldn’t do it. She’d be a crazy, shaking, sobbing mess by the time they made it to her apartment. She couldn’t let him see her like that. He’d already seen too many of her secrets.

He had to have seen the blue fairy tattoo on her good hip. One of her girlfriends had taken her out for a girl’s night after she’d been given the all clear from her doctor. After one too many drinks, they’d walked to a tattoo parlor. She’d gotten the pixie in a drunken, lame attempt to distract attention from her scarred hip.

Why else would he have called her pixie?

Unable to resist the concern creasing his brow, she leaned in to place an easy peck on his forehead. The skin beneath her lips was warm. His scent filled her with a yearning she had no right to feel.

His other hand swept beneath her skirt and grasped her ass. He pulled her close and down until she was sitting across the bike’s tank in front of him. Awkward and off-balance, she could do nothing but hold onto his broad shoulders. Both hands swept up to hold her tight just beneath her breasts. She couldn’t be quite sure if he refused to let her flee or merely held her steady. His mouth descended on hers, capturing and gentling it. His soft lips, molding to and merging with hers, melted her. Nothing existed except Brick’s hands and mouth. His hot breath mixed with hers as a thumb lifted to graze across a nipple.

The other hand slid back down to beneath her skirt and a single digit swept the softest of touches over her lace-covered pussy. His palm cupped her breast and worked her nipple in soft tugs, syncing with easy sweeps over her traitorous clit. It didn’t care that her mind screamed that she needed to keep her distance from him. Swollen and ready, the shameless little hussy craved his touch desperately.

His mouth held hers captive in a sweet but ruthless possession. Each touch stole another fragment of her will until she was little more than a puddle of need. In a sudden, coordinated move, he nipped at her bottom lip and then cupped her pussy. With firm pressure he pressed the heel of his hand against her clit.

Blinded and breathless, she nearly crumpled as sharp waves of pleasure assailed her. She climaxed right there in the parking lot. Trembling and speechless, she’d become little more than a mindless doll.

He pulled his mouth away, pressed his forehead to hers, and righted her skirt. He put both hands around her waist, lifted her, stood, and set her on the backseat of the bike. Grasping her chin in a gentle but firm grip, he commanded her to look him in the eye. “Hold onto me as tight as you need. I’m taking you home, and I swear nothing will happen to you. You’re mine. I’ll protect you.”

He sat on the bike in front of her and reached behind with both hands. “Give me your hands. I’ve got you.” He pulled her arms until she lay against his warm back, and she felt him tuck her fingers around his leather belt.

Her only consolation as the bike roared to life? The always steady and immovable Brick was breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

* * * *

Diane shed her boots at the door of her apartment above the club and padded silently across the hardwood floors. She’d had the open space converted and never once regretted the expense. As much as she loved her club and employees, she equally loved her downtime.

After tonight’s strange turn of events, she’d take an extra step and have a glass of wine or two and a soak in a bubble bath. She knew it was a lost cause, but she needed the comfort of routine for sanity’s sake. For just a few minutes she wanted to escape the worry hounding her.

As much as she hated admitting it, she was a little shaken by Azrael’s visit to the club. Once she’d lived as a goddess of tremendous power. Few could have harmed her. Now, with only a flicker of power preventing her from aging, she was nearly mortal.

She couldn’t protect herself, and he was a Soul Runner with near limitless power. Until recently, he’d walked the paths of light and darkness alone. He’d been given an apprentice, making him the head Soul Runner. How did one best that? No one could.

Runners were, contrary to common myth, not evil immortals or even angels fallen from grace. Simply put, they were the Fates’ enforcers and cleanup crew. They’d been slandered as “dark ones” countless ages ago simply because they spent so much time walking in the shadows of death and despair. Eventually the Light marking them as immortal became tainted with a darkness having nothing to do with their own deeds. Spending so much time in the presence of death left a dark imprint on their soul that forever marked them as outsiders. They were too “dark” for Heaven or any of the Unearthly realms of good, yet they truly had no permanent place in Hell or any of the other dark realms because they hadn’t earned a place there through dark deeds. There was no evil or Dark Light within them.

Diane had always thought it shameful the way they were treated by those who possessed the gods’ “White Light.” Without thinking twice about it, the dark ones walked in places that no man or immortal dared to tread. They saw horrors that most immortals couldn’t imagine and worked tirelessly to clean up the evil left behind by others.

Yet, typical of the gods’ hypocrisies, they were shunned as if they were the vilest of demons. Was it any wonder she wanted no part of their world any longer?

She leaned in and pressed her forehead and hand against the cold stainless steel of her refrigerator. She’d given up everything but her soul. Would she have to give it up, too? Somehow regardless of the sacrifices she’d made, Unearth’s drama had forced itself back into her world. Why was she surprised? Selfishness was a sport in Unearth, and everyone excelled. Was it too much to want to be left alone? All she wanted was to be a nobody. Forgotten.

Now her old world had pushed its way back into her life, and the grim reaper himself knocked at her door.

In the club her first instinct had been to fear that Azrael would recognize her. After a moment, reality sank in, and she acknowledged that was the least of her concerns. Unlike her sister, who thrived on attention, Diane had always kept to herself. And now, courtesy of Lilith, the Light that marked her as a goddess was all but extinguished. Everyone in Hell had forgotten her existence long ago, and she preferred it that way.

Weary and worried, she stood upright and opened her fridge for a bottle of water.

She’d tried repeatedly to contact her niece before she’d left the club for the night, but of course she hadn’t responded. That would have been too easy. What were she and Lilith fighting over this time? Was she safe? Diane didn’t even know which side of the gate her niece was on or where to begin looking for her.

A dark chill whispered at the nape of her neck and filled her with dread. She wasn’t alone. She turned and found a pair of young brown Lilitu demons and one very large and menacing Rimmon staring at her from across the room. The appearance of the two smaller demons wasn’t cause for alarm.

They were Lilith’s own spawn, and these two only stood about four feet tall. They glared at her with close-set, dull, muddy eyes. The nostrils of their pointed, goat-shaped snouts twitched as if scenting the air. The black horns spearing straight from the back of their goat-like heads and their long, narrow tails quivered impatiently. They reminded her of tense dogs straining against an invisible leash.

Spawned daily in the thousands, they were long ago sadly deemed no more than disposable slaves and given virtually no freedom. Immediately after birth, they were shipped off to slave training. Most became laborers for the war demons.

The single Rimmon, on the other hand, was a serious problem. The large, warrior-class demons were bred by Luc’s generals from the seeds of Wrath and Strength and cultivated with utmost care. They were next to immortal and nearly invincible. They didn’t even sprout horns until they reached a thousand years of age. By the size of this one’s, which were thickly coiled on each side of his beastly head and coal black in color, he must be at least three or four thousand years old. His skin was a dark slate blue, and judging by the icy intent in his silver eyes, she knew she was in serious trouble.

What now? Why in the worlds would they be here for her? How was she going to get out of this without her powers?

“Where is she?” The guttural growl rumbled from the Rimmon’s fanged mouth as shocked realization struck for the second time. They weren’t here for her. Of course, she should have known that a visit from a Soul Runner and a visit from a warrior-class demon in one night meant more than just a little trouble for her. This was more trouble for Alia.

“I’m right here, big boy. Don’t you know you should knock and bring flowers when you come courting?” She could always hope false bravado might throw them off their hunt.

“The girl. Where have you hidden Lucifer’s daughter?” The garbled words were nearly indecipherable as the Rimmon sneered and growled at her. He could growl all he wanted. She wasn’t giving him anything. Not Alia, not her fear.

“I have nothing for you, demon, and you’re not welcome in my home. Now leave.”

The little brown demons squealed and shook their heads as if laughing, and the Rimmon smiled an ugly, twisted smile. His voice was smug as he waved a small silver coin at her. “I have one of Charon’s obols, and it was given to me legally. Your words refusing my entrance won’t work. I will not leave until I have Lucifer’s daughter.” He took a menacing step forward and straightened his shoulders. The pointed ends of his coiled horns glowed with a murky gray light.

Then he stopped cold and sniffed the air. His body trembled, but she couldn’t quite tell if it was from anger or something else.

* * * *

Azrael stopped short of completely appearing in the barmaid’s home. He hovered near, listening in on her conversation with the demons. Clearly she was not expecting or happy with their presence. She held her head high again as if in full-blown defense mode. It was the same way she’d faced him in the club. Her stiff posture would shame the most experienced runway model.

His caution earned him some important information. Though she was not happy with their presence, it wasn’t the first time she’d ever encountered demons. She’d known exactly what they were. Even the bravest of mortals would have paused in shock and fear as the ugly beasties appeared in their home.

She had more than a passing knowledge of their world. When the Rimmon flashed an obol at her, her eyes had momentarily widened as if in disbelief. Looking like no more than a simple silver coin, it was damn rare for a battle demon of any sort to have such a gift, meaning that more than likely, there was at least one major player involved. The token had to be willingly given by Charon, and he hoarded them fiercely. The coins were given to him by the dead for safe passage across the river Acheron and into their specified resting place. The practice had all but stopped in the last millennia, making the coins extremely rare and also increasing his workload. It was rare for even an elder god to carry one.