Deliver Me from Darkness: A Novel of the Paladin Warriors (17 page)

“You want to come in?” She stepped back, gesturing with her head over her shoulder at the grand foyer beyond.

He
looked
at
the
checkered
marble, the opulent crystal chandelier. Both were inexplicably familiar. Yes. He wanted to come in. He’d come for a reason. He needed to…why was he here?

“Come on,” she said when he hesitated. “I won’t bite.”

The
last
was
delivered
with
a
punctuated
lick
of
her
front
incisors. Roland practically shivered imagining what it would be like to have those straight white teeth raking over his skin. She’d start at his throat, then work her way down, those red-tipped fingers slowly undressing him so her tongue could find more skin.

She
laughed. A full-bodied laugh that had her breasts jiggling pleasingly. A slender hand snaked out, latching on to his arm. “Come on, big boy. I promise this will be a night to remember.”

God
he
hoped
so. Roland let her drag him into the foyer. Behind him the door closed with a solid boom. The manor house was quiet. More so than typical, but before the thought could fully penetrate, the redhead had her arms around his neck and her lush lips pressed up against his own. After that it was blurs of images, punctuations of sensation. His shirt was gone before he could blink, tossed to the wayside with her cloak. Her mouth was all over him, exploring every inch of his torso as her deft fingers went to work on his pants.

Out
of
the
corner
of
his
eye
he
caught
movement. A figure, male, skimming the edge of the room.

“Who?” Even though the question came from his own mouth, the voice sounded foreign. Distant. Strange.

And
then
she
was
kissing
him
again. Her tongue plunged between his lips and demanded he taste what the combination of her and him could be like. Oh hell yes. That was good.

He
needed
her. Now!

He
half
dragged, half tumbled her to the floor, his hands as determined to press her into the polished black-and-white marble as to push down the already dangerously low bust line of her gown.

A
sharp
prick
pierced
the
back
of
his
shoulder. He yelled, trying to twist his head to look at his attacker. A long-nailed hand grasped his jaw, forcing him to keep his head forward.

“Never mind him. Concentrate on me.”

His
gaze
dropped
to
the
plump
offerings
heaving
up
and
down
against
his
chest. Oh yes. Gladly.

His
head
lowered.

Almost
there.

A
wrist, dripping blood, was rudely shoved in the way between him and his goal.

He
growled
out
a
protest. He wanted her. Needed her. And that bloody mess was in his way.

“Drink. Drink, my love. For me.”

Her
voice
commanded
that
he
drag
his
gaze
up. Her mesmerizing eyes locked onto his, her needs becoming his. Her desire became the force of his will. She wanted him to drink.

Yes. Yes. He’d do anything for her. Holding her gaze, he lowered his head, running his tongue languidly over the dripping red liquid. The taste…exquisite. Sweet, coppery, slick, warm. Addictive.

He
opened
his
mouth
and
drank
further. Couldn’t get enough. Would never get enough.

His
eyes
rolled
back, a euphoric darkness overcoming his vision.

Karissa’s blood-pumping urge to find a way out started to fade with a new kind of alarm, the kind that told her she was going to kill herself if she didn’t stop. Until then she’d encountered only heavy obstacles—walls, statues, and furniture alike—which did nothing more than leave a collection of bumps and bruises on her already battered body, but it was only a matter of time before she happened upon another stairwell. If she blindly fell down one of those? Well, broken limbs were certainly not conducive to escape.

Karissa slowed, toeing the fine line of making too much noise and progressing forward at a rate more than a crawl. She’d stopped hearing her name a while back. Not that that meant Logan and his father no longer hunted her, just that they were being stealthier about it. Which meant she was going to have to become stealthy too. Forget unseen staircases; she could run right into her predator’s arms.

Her hand, which had been hop-skip-jumping along the wall, evened out to a steady drag. The walls were different here. Simple plaster. No wallpaper or paneling or breaks for ornate columns of molding or recesses with statues hidden within. There was a chill in the air, punctuated with the occasional toe-curling cold spot that seemed to want to leach all of her heat. As if this area, even more so than the rest of what she’d decided was an unused wing in the Paladin’s grand castle, hadn’t seen any use in decades, perhaps even a century. And those cold spots?
Ghosts
.

And wasn’t that a freaky thought.

Her fingers hit a tapestry. The threadbare weaving tore from its tether at the top, falling with a muffled flop onto the floor. She halted in her tracks, muscles tense, ears pricked for any sound beyond her own hitching breath. Nothing.

She reached her hand back out, expecting plaster, and met—nothing. An alcove?

Carefully she nudged the fallen tapestry aside with her foot, following the line of the baseboard molding to the open gap in the wall. She slid her foot forward. Her toe dropped over the edge.

A hidden stairwell.

She followed the steps down, her hand running across the uneven walls. Not plaster. Stone. Deeper she went. Fifty steps. A hundred. Always curving to the left. Twice she hesitated, almost turned back, but her determination to find a way out kept her taking the next step, rounding the next curve.

Eventually the steps ended, depositing her in some sort of servants’ hall, though it might as well have been a tunnel, or cave. Not one damn window in the place. And the décor was decidedly uninviting. It was dark, cramped, and cold. The stone walls pressed in on her from all sides.

She was made for light. Craved it. And to be confined to hiding in shadows?

Karissa blew out a breath, taking a moment to screw her head on straight. She admitted it. She was afraid of the dark. She’d been raised to be terrified of the things that went bump in the night.

“But you said that evil can sometimes walk in the light of day too, Papa.”

Papa
leaned
forward, his wrinkled face no longer soft and inviting, but stern. “Yes. But at night, you can’t see the evil coming.”

“Oh, Papa. How right you were.” On so many things.

It was her fault he was dead. That stupid night class. She’d led the monsters home to her ailing papa. He’d warned her, and she hadn’t listened.

She dashed away a tear. She could cry later. After she got away. After she was safe.

Safe where?

She had no idea. There was no place to go, no one she could trust. Except…

She shook her head, pushing away the thought weaving itself into what passed for logic in her current messed up state. Running to Roland was not an option. It wasn’t even that she was worried over whether he had or had not tried to enthrall her. He’d risked his life to warn her about what could happen at Haven. And she couldn’t deny the hurt she’d felt from him when she refused him. He wouldn’t have been hurt if he didn’t care about her.

Which meant everything that happened before had to be taken in a new light. Roland had never kidnapped her. Never planned to sell her or rape her. And, God help her and her treacherous body, she was beginning to suspect he’d never tried to enthrall her either. Nope, everything he’d done—except, perhaps, that damn kiss—now stunk of self-sacrifice and concern for her—not his own—well-being.

She would not be responsible for someone else dying because of her foolishness.

She rubbed her arms, attempting to ward off a chill that came with the thought of going it alone. She’d figure things out. As soon as she made it outside. It must have been getting close to dawn, depending on how long she’d been unconscious earlier. As long as she was able to see well enough to use her gift, she could outrun most of the monsters that were capable of withstanding the sun’s rays. Imps, chameleons, the occasional succubus. Yeah, she was able to keep ahead of those.

Karissa pushed off the wall, resuming her tentative progress through the tunnel. She could have sworn that she felt a breeze. And a breeze meant a door, or a window. A few feet later, she felt it again. A definite breeze!

Her heart bobbled beneath her breast. She pushed forward at a pace that she knew was edging on dangerous but couldn’t seem to help herself. The air, tinged with car exhaust, was the sweetest thing she encountered since she arrived at the pretty prison.

She was so excited at the prospect of escape that when her outstretched arm rammed up against something solid and steel, sending a vibrating lance of pain up into her shoulder, she didn’t even flinch. A door! And beyond, freedom.

She muffled a happy cheer and fumbled around for the latch. It seemed sticky, or maybe just rusted and old, but the door gave way behind the shove and grunt of her stubborn shoulders.

Karissa burst into the street beyond, gulping down the city air and basking in the glowing pool of the streetlamp as if she were a lizard and it the morning sun. Only, it wasn’t morning. Beyond the streetlamp’s glow the dark shadows that bathed the deserted street confirmed one of her worst fears: It was still night. Either she wasn’t unconscious very long, or she’d slept a really long time. Damn. She really didn’t want to be out here at night. Maybe she should go back inside, wait an hour or two.

Behind her the door clamored back into its casing. She pivoted, head shaking as she stared at the closed escape route.

“Shit!”

She lunged forward, gave a futile tug at the handle, the muscles of her shoulders straining against the mocking resistance of the metal and steel. Locked. Of course. What good was a secret escape route that your enemies could get in? She’d made it beyond the intricate illusion that hid Haven from the rest of New York City’s unsuspecting population and was now back on the litter strewn streets of the warehouse area of the great city that never slept. Except here. Not a single soul dared to show their faces here at night. Karissa didn’t need to wonder too long why that was.

“Already sick of our hospitality?” a familiar voice drawled.

Karissa spun around.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, to pick out the trim figure standing in the shadows, arms folded, under the awning of the building across the street. But when they did, her lungs caught her breath in a suffocating choke hold. Valin. Of all the Paladin who could have been waiting for her to pop out of the back entrance, Valin was the one she least wanted to deal with. There was something about him that made her think of darkness and shadows, thievery and…yup, murder.