Beauty's Beasts (11 page)

“Yes, come for me,” Damian urged. “Let go. Trust me and let go. Let yourself fall.”

His thumb stroked in hard, knowing brushes against her clit and Riley could feel the orgasm beating at her, stealing her senses, building up like a gigantic wave.

Fright tore through her. She opened her eyes and looked at Damian. He was watching her.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed. “Let go.”

Her breath hitched in her chest as the orgasm beat at her.

“Damian.” Nicholas’ voice, harsh and low.

Damian’s head snapped to the right and suddenly, Riley felt herself pushed backward and Damian was abruptly not there.

She was lying a lot farther along the table than she was two seconds ago. Her legs were supported. Her climax was ebbing and dying.

Sounds to her right. Murmurs.

Riley rolled slowly onto her side, feeling a chill settled around her. She curled her leg over and her arm over her breasts, covering herself up, although Nick must already have seen enough, anyway.

Damian and Nicholas were standing in the little-used kitchen area, talking. Damian seemed completely unaware that he was naked, or that Nicholas had interrupted them in a most intimate moment.

Nicholas glanced at Riley where she lay on the table before turning his attention back to Damian. Damian was tugging at Nicholas’ coat, pulling it from him despite Nick’s protests and sluggish attempts to stop him. The coat dropped away from his shoulder and Riley sat up, alarmed.

His shirt was ripped from shoulder to elbow and two red gashes gored his arm. They dripped blood as she watched, the blood splattering the clean white kitchen tiles.

Nick looked at her. “I would have stayed away if I could,” he said apologetically.

Riley got dressed again, for the tie to her bathrobe was torn in half and she didn’t want to wander around the apartment in a robe that flapped open whenever she forgot to hold it closed.

While she was dressing, Damian thrust on jeans and moved around the apartment laying on all the window ledges and lintels of the doors black, rounded stones he took from a wood and studded iron box that Nicholas told him to pull down from the top of the extended set of library shelves running along the east side of the apartment.

Riley found Nicholas in the kitchen using a towel to mop up the blood still oozing from the wounds on his arm. He’d taken off his shirt, or Damian had done it for him, for the bloody and tattered remains were sitting in the sink behind him. Now he leaned back against the black granite counter with the towel bunched in his fist, his torso twisted as he tried to look over his own shoulder. He did it awkwardly, for it was his right arm that was wounded.

“After nine hundred years, you’re not ambidextrous yet?” she teased. She took the towel from him. “This isn’t sterile,” she pointed out.

“There isn’t a bug on this planet that could infect me. I just don’t want to stain the tiles any more than I have. They’re Carrera marble. I brought them over from Italy myself.” He sounded pissed, like whatever had done this to him had put him out and threatened the peace of his household, rather than his well-being.

“Then turn around and bleed into the sink,” she said.

He looked affronted. “That’s
granite
,” he said.

Riley dabbed at the blood still pooling in the crook of Nick’s arm. “If you weren’t so goddam…well,
male
, Nick, I’d accuse you of being gay.” She said it to keep the mood in the kitchen light and superficial. Anything to keep her attention away from his bare chest, and the thick pectoral muscle right by her cheek. The rounded shoulder cap level with her eyes each time she lifted her gaze from the wounds.

“Ironic, under the circumstances,” he said softly.

“Do you even think in those terms?” she asked. And she made the mistake of looking him in the eye, and was caught.

“Not the way the modern world does.” His voice was low. Rich and strong.

God, she could drown in his eyes. Blue. So blue. She couldn’t look away.

His arm where she was still technically swiping at the blood moved. The fingers of his right hand came to rest on her hip at the top of her jeans. The tee shirt she was wearing was too small from too many washings and tended to ride up and show off a band of flesh. His fingers caressed the flesh now, so softly she might have imagined it. But she didn’t imagine the effect. She trembled, unable to tear her gaze away from Nick’s, her breath shortening down to uneven exhalations and choppy inhalations. Even his thumb left a searing little arc of burning flesh across her hipbone.

Her breasts grew heavy and she wished mightily she wore a bra. He must surely see her nipples extend and harden. The tee shirt was tight across her breasts. He would see everything, except that he was staring into her eyes.

But Nick was a vampire and could sense everything about her. He could pick up the slightest change in her pheromones.

And so could Damian.
Her heart skittered. He must surely know by now what was happening in the kitchen.

“God help me, I can feel you,” Nick murmured. “
See
you on that table.” His fingers clenched around her hip.

“Nick,” she begged. “Look away. Let me go.”

“You want me.” His voice was rough. Hoarse with his own needs, and not all of them were sexual.

“Oh, Nick…” The unanswerable question. Why did he have to ask it now? So soon? So late? Too late?

When Damian’s fingers curled around the back of her neck, Riley almost moaned in agony. How much had he heard? How much had he witnessed?

“Answer him,” Damian said softly. “Answer truthfully.” His fingers caressed gently. Soothingly. While Nick’s hand sent another message altogether.

Nick still hadn’t looked away from her eyes. She was lost in his gaze. “I want you,” she said honestly. “I want you as badly as I want Damian.”

A shudder went through Nick. His fangs slowly emerged, as he lifted his gaze to Damian’s face. “You’re playing with real chess pieces again.”

“The game is worth it.”

“That is what you said last time.”

“I was right then, too.”

“People died, then.”

Riley looked up at Damian, startled. “What is he talking about?”

Damian smiled. “London, 1593. A long story, full of intrigue and for another time.” He looked at Nicholas. “I’ve placed the wards on every door and window. We’re covered for now. Riley should be brought up to date.”

“Up to date on what?” Riley asked.

Nicholas looked down at the gashes on his arm. “We’re no longer the hunters. We’re now the hunted. Azazel did this.”

“The demon that raises the gargoyles?”

“What guise is he using now?” Damian asked, his hands on Riley’s shoulders. His chest was against her back, strong and reassuring.

Nick’s hand settled back on her hip with a casual movement and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, although Riley’s pulse sky-rocketed. Damian’s hands tightened just a bit, letting her know he’d felt her reaction.

“A small woman, barely bigger than Riley. Blonde. Green eyes. The green eyes were what caught me.” Nick grimaced. “I don’t know if Azazel has seen Riley or if it was just a coincidence, but he played me. It was enough for him to get close enough. His claws did the rest.”

Damian reached over and squeezed Nick’s shoulder. Comfort. Reassurance. Silent agreement that Nick had been duped and yeah, there was nothing that could be said that would make it any better. “He could have moved to another guise by now, too. Azazel has powers beyond anything we’ve ever seen in a demon. He has an agenda we just don’t understand. He operates independently. He’s something you’ve never come across before.”

Nick nodded. “He wants Riley.”

Riley jumped. “Why me?”

“You’re your mother’s daughter,” Nick explained. “She interred Azazel in his last regeneration and it’s taken him thirty years, almost, to pull himself together and come after you. He’s angry, now. He wants vengeance. He dug up the gargoyles just to get even. It’s payback time.”

“You know this for sure?”

“I know Azazel of old, so I’m guessing, but I’d lay money on my guess, Riley. Everything fits. He’s powerful but vain, selfish and arrogant. Childish and petulant. A typical demon, just one with superpowers.”

“My mother had years of training. I’ve had four hours of it,” Riley said. Fear bloomed in her chest, beat at her temples. She felt sick with it. She pushed her fingertips into her temples. “I’m starting to feel like you do, Nick. This is impossible. It’s never going to work. I should just go hand myself over to Azazel now and put everyone out of their misery.” Tears pricked at her eyes.

Her head was jerked up by a hand under her chin. Nick’s eyes glared into hers, snapping fire. Before she could even catch her breath his mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding.

Her thoughts scattered completely and utterly by the sheer unexpectedness of the kiss. Damian was still standing behind her. She could feel the warmth of him against her—the only coherent and panicky thought she could hold onto as Nick’s tongue thrust into her mouth.

It was a kiss to die for.

She didn’t want to respond. She fought not to. It felt like betrayal of the worst sort for even her heart rate to elevate or her breath to catch and at first she held it, trying not to show any sign of reaction to the surprising softness of Nick’s lips against hers.

But she couldn’t hold out for long. As the kiss extended she was drawn into it and lost inside it. She gave up and let herself thrust her fingers into Nick’s hair and wrap herself around him as she had longed to do—as she had imagined doing since the idea of seducing Nick had first occurred to her. Her body seemed to catch on fire as she let go of all restraint and just let herself
feel
the kiss.

When he finally broke the kiss and pulled back, she was panting.

Nick glanced at Damian. “There are two classic ways to deal with a hysteric. You would rather I have slapped her instead?” But he was breathing just as heavily as she was and his eyes were heavily dilated, the blue almost completely subsumed by the irises.

Damian didn’t respond. She felt his hands on her shoulders once more.

Nick turned and walked out of the kitchen, heading for the lounge area. “Training, Riley!” he called over his shoulder. “Fifteen minutes! Let’s add to that four hours right now.”

“It’s one in the morning,” Riley pointed out. “He’s aware that I need sleep at least somewhere in a twenty-four-hour cycle, right?” She kept her gaze averted from Damian, aware that her cheeks were burning with mortification.

Damian turned her to face him and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. His expression was calm. “You need to trust me,” he said. “In everything.”

It was the last thing she had expected him to say. She blinked. “You’re not angry?”

“Not even close.” His thumb stroked her jaw. “You have to learn to let go, Riley. Let go of control and of staying on top. You need to let yourself sink into things.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid that if I do that, if I lose control, I’ll…”

“You’ll what? What’s the worst thing that could happen, if I’m here with you?” he asked reasonably. “No one could possibly harm you if I’m here, or Nick.” He touched her lips with his. A cousin, or a brother kiss. “You’re not alone in the world anymore, Riley.”

The truth of that statement slammed into her like an express train hitting a concrete wall. She wasn’t an orphan any more. She had family. She’d never, ever be alone again.
Ever
.

* * * * *

Nicholas worked her harder than she’d ever thought it was possible for the human body to be driven. For three hours he trained her, using the bamboo poles, until her circadian rhythms overrode even Nick’s harsh insistence.

She held herself up by the pole as Nick explained the principle of close in-fighting and tried to focus her eyes. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked.

“You need to focus on what I’m saying,” he reminded her. “We don’t have time for you to zone out.”

“I did,” she assured him. “I just didn’t hear it.”

“That’s because she fell asleep for a few seconds,” Damian said from his sprawl on the couch. “I was watching her. Her eyes shut.”

Nick tilted his head to one side, studying her. He seemed somehow pleased. The corners of his mouth looked like they were almost lifting into a smile. He threw his pole to Damian, who caught it with cat-like reflexes. Nick strode back to where his broadsword lay on the sideboard.

“Pick up your sword!” he called out over his shoulder.

“She’s asleep on her feet!” Damian protested, sitting up.

Nicholas grabbed the hilt of his sword and strode back to where Riley stood grasping the pole. His face was grim. “If you don’t want me to cut that pole to matchsticks and then start in on your hands, pick up your fucking sword
now
.”

She was tired and her reactions were slowed as a result. Nicholas was also using vampire speed, she was sure of it. He reached her before she could react. The blade of the sword was a blur.

Riley had always known Nicholas was good. Intellectually, she understood he had been trained in the way of the sword from the age of ten, when one’s sword and knife was the only form of defense a man knew and defending one’s life was a common thing—as common as getting your email account jacked today.

But she didn’t really
know
it. Not in her gut. Not the way she accepted in her bones Nick and Damian’s vampire state.

She didn’t have time to analyze that curious omission now, for he sliced off the top of her pole in two easy passes of his sword before she could get her sluggish body to move backward. Fright tore through her. The light in Nick’s eyes and the unrelenting, hard look in his face…this was the implacable expression that his enemies had faced through the centuries, as he calculated how to defeat them and they realized the enormous skill and power of the foe they faced.

Riley dropped the pole, lunged for the katana sitting in the umbrella stand at the end of the sofa, curled her hands around the long handle, withdrew it and brought it around and up to block Nick’s descending blade in two quick movements. There was a ringing sound as metal collided with metal.