Into Temptation (A More Than Men Novella) (2 page)

“What’s your name?”

She stared at him, the wariness slowly slipping away. He’d like to think his abilities made her concern flee, but he knew better. He no longer possessed the power to influence her will with nothing but a glance. Even so, her body relaxed beneath his touch.

“Evie.”

And he suddenly needed more from her than the miniscule surrender she’d given him. He wanted everything. To touch and taste all of her. To revel in the momentary reprieve for as long as it lasted.

The need had nothing to do with his purpose for existence and everything to do with her. And him. And the bone-deep loneliness he’d never be able to shake.

His hold tightened. He could feel the tiny bones in her hand rubbing together. It had to be painful. But she didn’t flinch. Instead she moved closer, concern flooding her beautiful expression.

Concern for him.

She cocked her head to the side, and her hair slid softly from her shoulder to tickle across his bicep. The pleasure of the silken touch knotted in his belly.

She wasn’t afraid. Or awed.

Even as he’d tempted humans, offering them their innermost desires and requiring the highest payment, they’d all been terrified. That’s the only way he liked them. Even humans that didn’t believe in God and Satan sensed the power that pulsed beneath his skin.

This one didn’t.

Then again, he was no longer a being to dread. No, he was a creature to loathe and revile. He was pathetic and insignificant. He was powerless and pointless. Oh, the mighty could fall.

But she could see him. Touch him. Feel him.

He slipped his fingertips slowly up the pale, perfect skin of her arm. She was so soft. Her breath hitched deep in her lungs, a tempting sound that only he could hear above the music. Reaching for the long strands of her red-brown hair, he wrapped some between his fingers.

The silky sensation of touch when he’d felt nothing for so long punched straight into his gut. He almost doubled over with the relief and pain. For the first time ever he understood how a human could willingly give up their soul. He’d pay an exorbitant price to feel again. Feel anything. Feel her. He wanted to skim his body across hers and remember the decadent sensation of sin.

He knew exactly what signs to look for, the hot flush across her skin and the dark pit as her pupils dilated with passion. Without letting go of her hair, Brone swept the pad of his thumb up the side of her neck, caressing the fluttering pulse just beneath her jaw.

She swallowed. And watched him.

“Evie is a little girl’s name. You are no little girl.”

Her lips parted, and air rushed from her lungs. The caress of it nearly sent him to his knees. The crowd pressed them closer together. She didn’t fit in. Her clothes covered more skin, and her makeup had none of the heavy black lines females seemed to favor now. But even the little she did have on was unnecessary. He wanted to tell her she needed no disguise or enhancement to make her beautiful, a line of seduction that would have tripped off his tongue easily before. This time the line was no lie.

“It’s really Evangeline, but everyone’s always called me Evie.”

He shook his head. His gaze roamed the length of her body. Small, compact, lithe, she would be a powerhouse of energy in bed. But there was also an air about her, a sensation of light that radiated through her body, rippled across her skin and lit her green eyes with a fire from within.

While it was child’s play for demons to sense a human’s deepest desires, it was also child’s play for them to recognize the ones with a solid core of strength. The ones not worth the time or effort of temptation.

He wanted her anyway.

“There you are.”

A woman rushed up beside them, grabbed Evie’s arm and twisted her away. Brone wanted to smite her. Had killed for lesser offenses. But he couldn’t.

“Cara’s in the bathroom puking her guts out. We need to take her home.”

Her friend
— or he assumed she was a friend — hauled her away. Brone followed, stepping through the crowd that still parted for him like the Red Sea.

Surprise and confusion filled him. Brone waved a hand in front of a woman grinding her ass against a half-drunk man. Nothing. No one else could see him.

Just her.

Evie craned her head around her friend’s shoulder, glancing back at him and proving she still could. It hadn’t been a fluke or a ripple in the fabric of existence and time.

It had been her, the first being in almost a thousand years to hear and see him.

Lengthening his stride, he reached for her again, his fingers snagging in the tangled mass of hair that swung down her back. Thick and smooth, the strands melted through his fingers like butter. Before he could grab tighter and hold on, she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

Certain he was invisible to everyone else, he unfurled his wings. With a gentle flutter, he rose several feet off the ground. Just in time to see her slip out the door, a limp and sickly pale woman between her and her friend.

The door slammed behind them. He closed his eyes to will himself from this place to outside, but before he could go, another hand wrenched the central spine of his left wing.

The sharp pleasure of the contact tore through him again, but this time the pleasure didn’t remain. Whoever had him was trying to twist his wing from his body, and it hurt like hell.

Twice in one night he’d experienced a simple touch. What did it say about him that he responded to the soft caress and torment to the most sensitive part of his body in the same way — craving any sensation again?

In a blinding motion, he jerked sideways. A loud crack echoed through the club. The wing broke. Agony suffused him. Brone didn’t care; it would heal. Eventually. The hard weight of his fist connecting with the solid jaw of another immortal filled him with a sick sort of satisfaction.

“Damn you to Hell.” The words roared above the crowd, not that anyone else could hear them. “You’ll pay for that.”

Brone scoffed. His eyes bright and focused, he waved his fingers at Kearn, asking for more. “I’m already in a place worse than Hell. What else can you do to me?”

“There’s always more. Much more.” A twisted, beautiful and entirely too smug smirk teased at the corners of his lips. Brone wanted to swipe it away, but Kearn’s words stopped him.

He’d never worried about what else could happen. The worst had been done. There was no place left to torture him.

But maybe the other demon knew what was going on. Why could he touch, hear, feel and suddenly speak to the human?

Unease and suspicion rippled across his body, the tips of his wings fluttering gently with the force of his emotion. The left one ached but was already beginning to mend.

What did this creature want from him?

“The Dark Lord has decided you’ve spent enough time in punishment for your betrayal, and has deigned to give you a chance to win back your place at his side.”

“Feeling benevolent this century, is he?”

Brone didn’t believe it for a single moment. Lucifer never did anything out of kindness. He wanted something, and if he was giving Brone a chance to give it to him, it was simply because Brone was the only creature capable.

But even knowing that, he was willing to hear Kearn out. Why not? It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be. And if he could actually win his way back into Hell…

The other demon shrugged and curled his lip, giving Brone the distinct impression he was against the possibility of Brone’s return to the fold. “Tough times on Earth mean more humans searching for something to fill the void. We’re happy to oblige.”

They both recognized the lies, but he chose to let them pass. Calling Kearn on them wouldn’t bring him anything.

“What does he want me to do?”

“Something that should be easy for the great and powerful Brone.”

Flattery. Crap, this couldn’t be good.

“That woman. The one you just met.”

“Evie?”

“Satan wants her soul. And he wants
you
to deliver it.”

Chapter Two

Rubbing a hand into her tired eyes, Evie tried to wipe out the events of the night. For a few minutes there she’d feared Cara had gone one step too far and was on the verge of alcohol poisoning. Or that maybe someone had roofied her drink.

Luckily she was okay. A couple cups of coffee and a hot shower had sobered her up enough that Evie felt comfortable leaving her in Melody’s hands.

She hadn’t wanted to go to that club in the first place, but the two of them had double-teamed her with a huge dose of guilt. It had been a long time since they’d had a girl’s night. When had college and fun turned into real life, with real jobs and responsibilities?

Evie could pinpoint the exact moment, at least for her — the night she’d gotten pregnant by a guy she’d been contemplating dumping just weeks before graduating from law school. She’d still dumped him, but Nick was now a permanent part of her life.

And Evie wouldn’t change that for the world.

It was late, a heck of a lot later than she’d hoped to be out. All she wanted was to drop into bed and sleep until at least noon.

A tired grimace tugged at her lips. That wasn’t going to happen. Even with Megan visiting her dad, Evie couldn’t manage to sleep past seven a.m. She hadn’t seen the back of her eyelids at noon since her daughter was born six years ago.

Funny how the little thing expected to be fed and entertained on a regular basis.

That thought brought on a smile, one tinged with sadness. Evie missed the whirlwind that routinely ran through her life, chattering and singing and dancing the entire way. She pushed the moment aside, used to these bouts whenever her daughter was gone.

Megan was the best thing she’d ever done. She thanked God that at least if she was destined to be a single parent, she’d gotten a good education first. Not that junior prosecutors made boatloads of money.

But Megan had everything she needed.

If Evie was honest, guilt wasn’t the only reason she’d agreed to the club. She’d needed a distraction from missing her daughter. Her current case was supposed to do that, but instead it was tying her stomach in knots. She was so afraid she was going to lose.

If that happened, a serial child molester was going back out on the streets. And that was really what had her tossing through sleepless nights and waking in cold sweats.

The problem was that the evidence was severely lacking. It was all circumstantial, and the defense had already managed to suppress a key piece of physical evidence based on a screwup with the chain of custody. How they’d discovered the error, Evie would never know. Hell, she hadn’t even known until the motion had come before the judge.

So far, nothing had gone their way. She seriously needed a break. Jury selection would start on Monday, and opening statements could begin then as well. At the moment she didn’t have much of a case to present.

She knew Monroe Stilton was guilty. Hell, everyone in the police department and prosecutors’ office knew, but unfortunately gut feeling wasn’t admissible in court.

At one point her boss had asked if she was too close to the case to be objective. He tried to tell her they couldn’t win them all. It was entirely possible he was right.

Some of the victims had been Megan’s age. Young girls and boys who’d had their lives shattered. Unfortunately none of them had seen their attacker’s face. Unlike most molesters, Monroe was patient and careful.

He waited until that one precious moment when everyone was looking away to snatch kids. He kept them only for a few hours and then released them. In several cases the authorities hadn’t even had time to organize a full search before the child was found again.

But those few hours were long enough to inflict so much damage.

Slipping out of the subway station and up onto the sidewalk a couple of blocks from her apartment, Evie rubbed at her gritty eyes again.

It was late and her brain was fried, but she couldn’t stop the wheels from turning, trying to find the single piece of information that would unlock everything. It had to be there, because Monroe Stilton was guilty as hell.

What kept her up at night was the realization that if she couldn’t win this case, he was going to hurt again. It might not be Megan, but it would be someone else’s son or daughter. And Evie wasn’t sure she could live with that.

A few feet from the brightly lit station, damp darkness settled around Evie. The sound of her heels echoed eerily against the soaring brick that surrounded her on all sides. On the train there’d been a few people, but now she was utterly alone. Maybe she should have taken a cab like Melody suggested, but she’d hated to spend the money.

It was only a block and a half to her building. She had a gun and knew how to use it. Slipping her hand inside her purse, Evie wrapped her palm around the smooth butt. Just in case.

An uncomfortable sensation slithered down the back of her neck. The tiny hairs stood on end. Hunching her shoulders to make it go away, Evie darted a glance around her. There was no one. No threat, just the elongated shadow cast from the streetlamp behind her.

She was imagining monsters where there weren’t any. Occupational hazard when you spent all day studying criminals and the aftermath of the crime scenes they created.

Her apartment building was less than a block away. She could see the big green door looming just ahead. Safety. Sanctuary. Her steps sped up. She was almost home free.

And then a huge, hulking man materialized out of nowhere. She was alone…and then he was there, filling half the sidewalk and blocking her path.

Everything was in shadow, but even if she couldn’t see him clearly, there was something familiar about him. The way he stood, straight shoulders, hips widened in a stance that grounded him to the earth. The arrogant tilt to his head.

The burn of panic that had shot through her stomach like acid dissolved. Her brain hadn’t told her body she was safe, but apparently it wasn’t waiting for the all clear. Her shoulders sagged, losing their tension even as her steps faltered.

And then he stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

“You,” she breathed out, wary caution finally kicking back in. Inside her purse, her grip tightened around her gun. The weight of it gave her courage and false strength.

With moonlight playing across his beautifully stark features, the man she’d barreled into at the club stood before her. What was he doing here? How had he found her?

Taking a half step forward, she asked, “Were you following me?”

Instead of answering, he cocked his head to the side and let his eyes run over her body. A lazy perusal that should have left her feeling violated but instead made something deep inside her sigh with memory and acceptance.

It had been a long time since a man had looked at her with that kind of appreciation.

Shaking her head, Evie tried to pull herself back from the stupidity of that thought. This man was a stranger and possibly a stalker. And that was the best-case scenario. The worst was that he’d been sent to exact a little revenge by one of the people she’d had a hand in putting in jail.

There was a reason she carried a gun. Most of the criminals she dealt with weren’t dangerous…but a few were. And would stop at nothing to inflict pain on the person they blamed for their predicament.

Hardening her resolve, Evie slowly pulled the gun from her purse and let the weight of it settle against her thigh. She didn’t point it at him. She knew better than to point the business end of a pistol at someone unless she was fully prepared to pull the trigger…and she wasn’t there. Yet.

But she wanted him to know she had it.

Unfortunately it didn’t quite have the effect she’d expected. Dark eyes, almost blue-black, snagged on the metal in her hand. And he smiled. A terrifying twist of the lips that did more to boost her panic than anything he’d done yet.

The gun didn’t faze him. In fact, if the bored way he dismissed it was any indication, he regarded it as nothing more than a nuisance.

Oh. Hell.

Evie’s hand trembled, but, wrapped tight around the gun, she hoped he didn’t notice. “What do you want? Who sent you?”

Surprise flickered across his sharp features before his expression blanked out.

“No one sent me.”

“Well, I’ve never seen you before, so I haven’t prosecuted your case. I can only assume someone else I’ve put in jail sent you. The question is, are you supposed to kill me or just rough me up and give me a warning?”

He took a single step forward. Evie raised the gun, pointing it right where his heavy boots rested about five feet away.

“Be careful, angel. Someone might get hurt,” his silky voice cautioned.

He shifted, and for some unknown reason her gaze was drawn to the play of muscles beneath his tight shirt. The man was built. Beautiful. What the hell was wrong with her? Who cared how gorgeous he was? She had a gun pointed at his feet, and he didn’t seem to give a damn.

A shiver rocked through her. She wanted it to be apprehension but wasn’t sure it really was.

Staring at him, she contemplated the merits of a warning shot, something that might make him a little more motivated to leave her alone and alert the neighborhood that something was happening.

But she never got the chance.

One moment she was analyzing her options, and the next he was in front of her, his hand wrapped around the barrel, twisting. She gasped, her eyes flickering across his stark face with shock.

“How…how…” Her voice croaked. How had he moved so fast?

Oh God. She panicked, flicking off the safety and squeezing the trigger before she’d even thought about what she was doing.

The world went quiet. The only sounds were the loud crack of the bullet leaving the chamber and the muffled grunt of the man standing before her. The force of the projectile sent her arm recoiling back. Her eyes widened.

“I told you someone was going to get hurt,” he wheezed out, his voice tinged with a humor she didn’t understand. How could he think this was funny?

His body slumped, but somehow he managed to lance her with those dark blue eyes, the impact of them rocking straight to her toes. “Better me than you.”

What had she done? A roar started deep in her brain. Regret, panic. She’d hurt another human being.

Dropping the gun as if the heat of the explosion was burning her fingers, Evie gripped his arms and tried to maneuver him to the brick wall. God, he was heavy, and uncooperative.

He fought her, pushing at her hands even as they tore at his shirt trying to find where the bullet had hit him. First aid. She knew first aid. Pressure. She should apply pressure. If she could find the damn wound.

And call an ambulance. But she couldn’t do both. Pressure first, help second.

Finally she found the edges where his shirt met, and yanked. Buttons popped and fabric tore. Her hands connected with warm skin. Hot skin. Burning skin.

A wicked hiss blasted through the man’s lips. His entire body convulsed as if her fingers sliding across his body were more shocking than getting shot.

He stopped fighting her. Instead huge hands covered her own, pressing her palms against the heat of him and holding her there. God, he was burning up. Was that from the gunshot?

“Let me go.” Evie yanked, trying to free her hands. “I need to find where the bullet hit you.”

“I’m fine.” His voice melted over her, the impact of it ripping through her and leaving devastation in its wake. She couldn’t help it; Evie’s tongue snuck out to lick across her lips.

“No, you’re not.”

They stood there, Evie’s hands held prisoner against his chest beneath the concealing weight of his shirt. His spine curved out from the brick wall she’d tried to prop him against as if he was still struggling to straighten away from it.

He stared deep into her eyes, unblinking, and read her. Evie had no idea how she knew that, but she did. It was something she accepted without question, just like the sky was blue and her daughter’s eyes were green. This man she didn’t know saw her. Saw into her. Knew all of her.

She drew a shaky breath, trying to find the equilibrium and intelligence she’d apparently lost the moment he materialized on the sidewalk in front of her.

“I would never hurt you,” he murmured, his fingers reaching up and tangling in her hair. Her scalp tingled uncontrollably. His gaze went a little unfocused.

A light in the apartment beside them flicked on.

He shoved against the dirty brick and, grasping her hand to drag her behind him, shot away. By the time the front door they’d been beside opened, they were both concealed by the shadowed doorway of her own building.

Where had that burst of speed and energy come from? He was shot, although she still didn’t know where. Shouldn’t he be…weak?

Evie shifted to lean forward and explain to Mr. Collins and the baseball bat he held against his shoulder what had happened and ask him to call for help. But a heavy hand clamped around her mouth, and the steel band of an arm across her waist held her still.

Mr. Collins’s eyebrows puckered as he looked around the empty street. He took several minutes to stare into the shadows, but his gaze skipped over their hiding place without even pausing.