Temptation, Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 3 (10 page)

He’d asked her what she liked to do. She’d mentioned that she liked to paint. Then, mindful of that last ten pounds she never quite managed to lose no matter how much she worked out or starved herself, she also told him that she often went to the gym in the morning before she went to work. Later that very morning, Gideon had directed her to the dining room, now empty but for an easel, a pile of canvases of varying sizes, and a small work table holding a vast array of paints and brushes. The curtains had been thrown wide to let in a flood of sunshine. Later that night, when she’d returned to her—
his
—room, she’d discovered the corner of the massive bedroom filled with a hodgepodge of exercise equipment, and a stack of exercise wear and running shoes on the foot of the bed.

While it was true he’d been deliberately avoiding her questions—deny it all he wanted, she wasn’t an idiot—he’d gone out of his way to make sure she had every comfort. And here she was, blatantly invading his privacy. She nibbled her lip and debated, for all of half a second, over putting the book back where she’d found it.

Squaring her shoulders, telling herself it was just a harmless book, she propped it in the media holder. After climbing onto the machine, she began reading that first dog-eared page.

The Amulet of the Gods.

Nearly two hours later, showered and dressed, she headed down the hall in search of her host.
The Amulet of the Gods
. If the book had been any indication, Gideon appeared to be obsessed with the thing. Notes lined the pages, some sort of code, or words written in a language she’d never seen before, she couldn’t quite tell. Shoved haphazardly throughout the book had been numerous scraps of papers, written in the same elusive text. Elegant script had transcribed page after page of information. There were also sketches. Rough, but quite detailed all the same. And always of the same theme. Centered around the same piece of ancient jewelry. It looked like a heavy piece, gold inlaid with rough-cut rubies. Presumably the amulet itself.

The question was, why was Gideon so focused on this one talisman?

She came to the end of the hallway and stopped in front of the door she’d seen Gideon go into last night. She didn’t know for sure she’d find him here, had no reason to believe this was where he’d been staying, other than her own instinct. Easing the door open, she peered into the shadows. The drapes were drawn, but not tightly. Slivers of light forced their way in through moth-eaten drapes, determined to chase away the gloom.

Soft snoring came from the huge, antique-looking four-poster bed on the far wall.

Unable to resist, she tiptoed across the room. Halfway to the bed, she paused and glanced around, frowning. The only thing not covered in massive, dingy dustcloths was the bed. Everything else wore a layer of grime and cobwebs. He’d given up his room for her. And now he was sleeping here. In this neglected mess. Because of her.

Feeling herself softening toward this puzzle of a man/demon despite her earlier resolve to look out for number one, she crept closer to the bed.

Gideon lay sprawled on his stomach. A pillow was clutched tight beneath one arm at his side. Another was bunched beneath his head. The very corner of a sheet was twisted around his hips—very low on his very naked hips—and partially covered one leg. The rest of his mouthwatering, golden-skinned body was bare. Naked all but for that hammered silver cuff and a thin chain around his neck.

His arms bore extensive tattoos, but the light was too dim to get a decent look at them. The dim light and the dark tattoos, however, couldn’t hide the ridges of his powerful, bunched muscles.

Nor did they hide the hideous scars slashing their way over his shoulder blades.

It took her a long moment of study to finally realize what they were, those scars. They were from where his wings had been removed. Viciously, brutally, by the looks of them. She clutched her throat, resisting the urge to cry in sympathy.

Oh, my poor Gideon.

Forcing her gaze away from the stark evidence of his origin lest she give in to the urge to cry after all, she surveyed the rest of his body. She’d like to pretend that she looked at him with the frank appreciation of an artist. But she couldn’t lie to herself. Whatever she felt, it had nothing to do with an artist’s eye. What she felt was a purely feminine attraction for a very fine masculine form. Defined muscles roped his broad back, dipping down to a trim waist and the upper curve of firm buttocks. A light, golden dusting of hair covered his powerful bare legs. Even his feet were sexy. Was there an inch of this man she wouldn’t mind nibbling on?

Her greedy gaze skimmed over him once again, head to toe.

Nope. Not one single inch.

Maggie stepped up to the side of the bed. Sunlight struggled through cloud cover and, for a few minutes, it seemed to be winning. The light broke free, illuminating his face for a few moments. Dark lashes rested upon his lean cheekbones. A hint of blond stubble covered his strong jaw. His wildly mussed hair shone bright in the light, a lock of it falling across his forehead.

He looked so peaceful. Like the angel he must have once been. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

With the light as it was, she could see the rough patch of pink skin on his side. A fairly recent wound. A huge one. A wound that would have likely killed a human. One that had left the golden perfection of his skin puckered and marred with pearl-pink scar tissue. Carefully, praying he wasn’t ticklish, she reached out to touch the rippled scar.

As her fingers connected with his warm flesh, she froze. Just like that, the world around her dimmed and slid out of focus.

Oh God, no. Not another one. Not now.

The vision sucked her out of place and time. Fast flashes. Vivid, unmistakable images. Lights and shadows. It was like a movie in fast forward, and she a trapped viewer. A reluctant voyeur. She could sometimes discern where the vision took place, based on the surroundings she caught glimpses of, but she never knew when it would happen, only that it would. Events she could not avoid no matter what she did to prevent it.

A future she could not change.

She saw herself. And she saw Gideon. He had her pressed up against a wall. She couldn’t tell where, didn’t recognize the wallpaper. Then again, she had trouble tearing her vision from the naked couple writhing in reckless abandon. Gideon held one of her wrists clamped above her head. Her face was tipped up, her eyes closed, her mouth open as she gasped in ecstasy. He devoured her neck.

His free hand was clamped on her bottom, firm and unyielding, possessive, gripping tight. The muscles of his arms and back were taut. Fine beads of perspiration glistened on his skin. And on hers. Maggie had wrapped her legs around his lean waist, locked her ankles over his tight buttocks. His back flexed and bunched as those lean hips pumped in a primal, unstoppable, brutal rhythm.

Just as quickly as the vision hit her, it disappeared. She was slammed back into the here and now. Maggie stumbled back a step, panting softly. Her body ached, trembling with need. Her blood sang in her veins.

Never before had she experienced a vision like that. Ever. Not one so sensual, so corporeal. Normally it was like watching a movie with familiar faces. Very 2D. Sometimes even 3D with action going on all around her. But this vision had been anything but. She swore she’d actually felt his teeth rake over her skin. She could still feel the slight sting on her flesh. She’d felt him pressing into her, felt his heat fill her. Felt him moving inside her, stretching her, stroking her. She shivered at the delicious phantom sensations.

Her mind raced, swirling with so many thoughts she was a bit lightheaded. But one thought kept coming back to her, over and over. In that vision, she’d been mindless with passion, oblivious to all else. Angels could have descended en masse from Heaven. Demons could have risen from Hell in droves. Armageddon could have happened all around her, and she wouldn’t have known.

Wouldn’t have cared.

She’d never experienced that, a complete and utter loss of control, loss of awareness.

The very idea scared the living hell out of her.

Try as she might, she couldn’t escape the vision. Couldn’t put it from her as she did the others visions, couldn’t store it away until she could sort it all out later. Her body was strung out. Her emotions were tangled.

Without thought, she reached out once more and whispered her trembling fingers across his brow. His hair felt like silk against her skin. Feeling brave now, or maybe it was the vision that drove her beyond all good sense, she gently eased her fingers along his jaw, savoring the rasp of his sandpaper stubble. What would it feel like to have that stubble scrape along the side of her neck? Along the curve of her breast? Her sensitive nipples?

She’d be finding out, soon enough. Her visions never lied.

Forcing a swallow, she jerked her hand back. Touching him only made her body ache for more. She had to clear her head. Had to think this one through. He’d come so close to kissing her in the study. And she’d come so close to letting him. In that moment, she had never wanted anything more. Not even her freedom.

But then he’d pulled back. Just like he always did. Why was he so careful never to touch her? Not even an accidental brush of his fingers?

According to her vision, he’d get over that aversion. With a vengeance.

He shifted in his sleep, and she jolted back. Clarity swept over her. She should be waking him up. Should be hurrying him along so they could get back to Portland. She wanted to go home, needed to see familiar things around her. Pack some of her own things to bring back with her for the short time she intended to stay with Gideon.

But she couldn’t shake the unsettling vision of them together.

Biting her lip, she stepped back, turned and silently slipped from the room.

Space. Time. Distance. She needed to get out of here. She needed to think things through. Vaguely, she realized she was panicking. Nearly hyperventilating. She couldn’t rationalize. Couldn’t breathe.

She needed air.

Her feet flew down the grand staircase, and Maggie hit the door running.

Stolas stepped outside one of the cells in his dungeon and closed the door behind him. With a sweep of his hand, the lock engaged. Sweat covered his body, and blood coated his hands. While he didn’t need to physically touch those he tortured for information, sometimes it proved a pleasant diversion.

His thoughts turned to his bedroom and the demoness he currently had chained to his bed. A luxury. A rarity. Female demons were, perhaps, even harder to find than those cursed Halflings. But, oh, the fight in this one was more than worth the price it had cost him to procure her.

He’d no more than begun to pull in his energy to shimmer there when a servant scurried around the corner at the end of the hall and bowed to him.

“Master, I beg your forgiveness, but Dimiezlo is back.”

Stolas gritted his teeth. He didn’t like disruptions in his plans, but Dimiezlo might have captured the Halfling.

“Have him meet me in the great hall.”

The servant vanished.

Taking a moment to conjure himself presentable, Stolas shimmered to the great hall. Dimiezlo was already waiting. Stolas motioned for him to speak.

“Master,” Dimiezlo hissed. “We do not have the Halfling yet, but I have commissioned Mortikaï to capture her.”

“Mortikaï!” Stolas bellowed. Mortikaï was Captain of the Guard, warden of Lucifer’s personal prisoners.

“Mortikaï’s hatred for the Demon of Temptation is far greater than his loyalty to the Dark Prince. He’s on his way to the Halfling’s house even as we speak.”

Stolas rocked back on his heels. Having one so close to Lucifer aware of the plot was beyond dangerous. And yet, in a way, brilliant. Provided Mortikaï could be trusted. And in all honesty, what demon could really be trusted?

Still. Mortikaï could prove a valuable ally.

“Keep me apprised. And Dimiezlo? If this goes badly, you will suffer.”

Chapter Eight

“Maggie?” Gideon strode down the hallway, a frown tugging his brow. Where the hell was she?

He’d checked his—
her
bedroom, the kitchen, the den, and the dining room where he’d set up her easel. Even though he strode down the hall, calling her name to no avail, he was dead certain the house was empty. Damn frustrating woman. He should have known better than to trust her. He should have locked her in his—
her
room.

He could have sworn when he’d woken up a little bit ago, he could actually smell vanilla and cinnamon in the room. Hell, the Halfling was driving him to distraction. He’d probably just imagined it. Conjured the scent in his dreams, just like he’d dreamed of touching her. Dreamed of making love to her.

He’d lived with his curse so long now one would think he would have gotten used to not being able to touch anyone anymore. And he had, with most everyone else. Sure there was still the urge for physical contact, and the inevitable sadness and resentment when he couldn’t. But with Maggie it was different. With her, the need was somehow magnified. A burning demand. One that grew exponentially with every passing hour in her presence. And the fury at being thwarted was nearly too much for him to contain.

But you can touch her
,
a sneaky little voice in the back of his head echoed.
You know how…

Just as quickly, he squashed it.

Or tried to, but that voice wouldn’t be denied. Not this time. It taunted him, offering him that which he wanted most. Maybe because his need was so great?

Hungry desperation was driving him to consider something he’d never let himself even think about before.

He physically couldn’t touch her—that was true. Not while he was in
human
form. But he could touch her while he was in demon form. A fact not many beings knew about. Demon form was the only way he could physically touch anyone. And that was his darkest curse of all. The mindless rage, the primordial drive for destruction and carnage while in demon form made him a menace to anyone—everyone—who got close to him. Friend or foe.

In demon form, he’d be more likely to kill her than caress her.

No. He would not touch her. He couldn’t put her in that kind of danger.

Mindful of her aversion to shimmering, grinding his teeth, he headed for the door. If he didn’t find her within the next five minutes, he would shimmer, thereby forcing her to his side, to hell with her preferences.

The front veranda was empty. Every step farther from the house ratcheted his anger up another notch. He stopped where the long gravel drive split into a circle around a large fountain in the front yard. The fountain was dry. Vines had snaked up and around the fountain, and now clung, withered and brown, to the aged and crumbling stone. His gaze skimmed the long tree-lined lane before he turned and strode around the side of the house and headed toward the overgrown backyard.

He was just about to shimmer when he spied her in the distance, seated upon the decaying steps of the neglected gazebo. She hugged her knees, staring pensively at the slow moving river. Much as he hated to admit it, relief swept over him, and his anger and irritation seeped away. She hadn’t run after all.

She looked up as he approached, maintaining eye contact for only a brief moment before turning her gaze away. She focused on the river once more, as if all the answers to the universe’s questions were streaming by and she didn’t dare glance away again for fear she might miss something important. But she was too late. He’d already caught the fleeting look of panic in her eyes.

She looked…haunted? No, perhaps
hunted
was a more apt term. Definitely cornered.

He sat beside her, bracing his forearms across his knees. The silence stretched on between them. Without taking his gaze from the muddy brown water, he quietly asked, “Wanna talk about it?”

She jolted and turned to him. “About what?”

He gave her a measured stare. Oh, yeah. That was panic he’d just heard in her voice. A whole lot of panic. “About whatever it is that’s got you so spooked.”

Her lips parted, then pressed shut, only to part once more. She looked like a fish gulping for air.

Whipping her head back to face the river, she croaked, “I’m fine. Nothing to talk about.”

Yeah? And I’ve got a helluva deal on a dirt cheap bridge.

But he held his tongue and let the silence stretch once more.

Eventually, he heaved a sigh. “Aside from going back to your old life and burying your head in denial, what is it you want most?”

She turned to study him now. Was the color in her cheeks just a bit darker? Had her breath just caught? Was she glancing at his mouth?

Or was he just imagining it? Seeing what he wanted, rather than what was really there?

She moistened her lips and cleared her throat. “Honestly?”

He nodded.

“I want—” She paused, drawing a deep breath. “I want to be able to fight. I want to know how to defend myself. I don’t want to have to rely on somebody else to keep me safe. And I don’t want my only defense to be running away and hiding. I don’t want to be helpless anymore,” she added softly.

Gideon regarded her. He wanted to insist that she need not worry. As long as he was alive, he would always keep her safe.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he frowned. Number one, she wasn’t his to keep. Not only was she a fiercely independent woman, but she would also be passionate. A woman like her needed a male who could touch her. A male who could stoke her passions and satisfy her in ways that Gideon could only dream about.

And number two, if he stuck to the plan, his life expectancy would be woefully short.

Oblivion, remember?

Standing, he paced away, paced back, paced away once more as he struggled with every instinct inside him screaming to keep her hidden away and safe, as far from danger as possible. And so he would do the only thing he could for her. Give her the only thing he was capable of giving to ensure she would be protected long after he was gone.

There was only one answer.

Turning, he regarded her, feeling as if the weight of the world was sitting on his chest.

“I’m going to make a phone call, and then we’re going to go to your place”—he pointed a warning finger at her—“for no more than one hour. You’re going to pack only what you absolutely need. And then we’re going to come back here.”

He drew a deep breath, praying he wasn’t making the worst mistake of her life. “And when we get back, I’m going to teach you what you need to know to survive. Not how to hide,” he amended, holding up his hand when she made to object. “I will teach you how to fight. I’ll teach you what you need to know about ward stones and guard stones and angels and demons…the truth about angels and demons. And I’ll get Kyanna to teach you the rest. The spells and incantations, and whatever else it is that she can.”

A hint of tears glistened before she blinked them away. His heart lurched inside his tight chest. Her tremulous smile hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

“But,” he quickly added, his tone ruthless, unbending, “in return, you will stay here at the plantation willingly, for as long as I see fit.” The thought of her continuing to live here after he was gone, safe and protected, gave him comfort in some strange way. “You will promise you won’t try to leave without me for any reason. When we’re training, and especially when we go to your place to get your things—any time we leave the plantation for that matter—you’ll do as you’re told. Exactly as you’re told. No arguments.”

“Yes, I promise,” she chirped. He eyed her with a great deal of suspicion. She beamed back at him, which only made him more wary.

He recalled her troubled expression when he’d found her earlier. “And no more secrets. You don’t keep anything from me. Deal?”

Maggie bobbed her head, her smile growing blinding. His groin tightened in response. She was moving, closing the distance between them. Panic scored him. He’d seen that kind of body language before, usually whenever Carly flung herself into Niklas’s waiting arms. If Maggie touched him—or, more importantly,
didn’t
touch him—she’d know. Know what a freak he was, even among his own kind. She’d know the truth of his curse.

He threw his hands up between them—as if that could physically stop her—and took three giant steps backward in retreat. Maggie skidded to a halt, her expression sliding swiftly from overjoyed gratitude to startled rejection. She was quick to school her features, but he’d seen it, nonetheless, and her emotions sliced him like a poisoned athamé.

“I’ll make that call now,” he muttered, pivoting on his heel and all but running away. He may just as well have had his tail tucked firmly between his legs. Never had his curse tormented him more.

Once he was inside the kitchen, safely alone, he leaned against the counter and dropped his head back on his shoulders. She was bound to find out, sooner or later. Why was he prolonging the inevitable?

Because he didn’t want her to look at him like all the others did. With pity. Even Carly, Lord love her, would slip once in a while and look at him with sympathy when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. God, he was sick of this. Yeah, he was dangerous. Feared by his enemies and, even to a point, among his own brethren. And yet, powerful as he was, even he was pitied.

So make the call and you’ll be that much closer to ending this mission, asshole.

Still, he hesitated. Ending this mission meant never seeing Maggie again. And that didn’t sit well. Gideon shook his head and steeled his resolve. He’d made her a promise. And himself. Teach her. End his misery. That was all that mattered. Still, her face haunted him. He almost wished… But no.

If he couldn’t have her, couldn’t touch her and keep her for his own, then he’d do everything in his power to make sure she had the tools to survive.

The sound of a door closing softly somewhere in the house brought him back to the task at hand. Traces of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the kitchen, giving him the strength to do what needed to be done.

Fishing his phone from his pocket, he thumbed in Xander’s speed dial number.

“No,” was Xander’s brisk greeting.

Asshole.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“It involves the Halfling, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then, no.”

Okay then. Since Xander wasn’t going to be reasonable—big surprise there—it was time to pull out the big guns. “I’d sure hate for Kyanna to find out you aren’t letting her do her job.”

A beat of furious silence met his threat.

“You wouldn’t,” Xander snarled.

“In a heartbeat. Out of respect, I’m coming to you first. But don’t think for one second I won’t go around you if I have to. Maggie needs training only Kyanna can give her.” Gideon pushed ruthlessly. “Are you willing to risk letting a first generation Halfling fall into Stolas’s hands because you’re being an overprotective prick? What do you think your little mate will have to say about that?”

Hoarse, foul curses stabbed Gideon’s ear.

More silence stretched, but Gideon knew he had Xander over a barrel. Xander loved his woman beyond all else, beyond reason. But he’d made the mistake of promising her never to interfere with her jobs as a Guardian. Nor with her determination to protect the Halflings listed in the books her family had passed down, generation to generation. And he’d made that mistake with an audience. What’s more, Xander would never break a promise to his woman.

Gideon wasn’t above using that promise to get what he wanted.

“We’re going to Maggie’s place in a little while to gather some of her things. When we get back, I’ll begin her training. Be here first thing tomorrow morning.” Gideon let a grim smile twist his lips as he disconnected the call, cutting Xander’s blunt opinion of Gideon’s dirty play short.

Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he went in search of the thorn in his side. Following the scent of vanilla and cinnamon, he ascended the stairs, only to pause in confusion. The scent trail—and the soft sounds of movement—were coming from the room he’d slept in last night, not from his—
her
—room, as he’d assumed. Quietly, Gideon strode to the doorway, pausing to lean against the doorjamb. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood, watching her in silence.

She’d stripped the sheets from the bed, the shabby curtains from the windows, and the dustcloths from the rest of the furniture. She’d thrown the windows wide open, and a strong breeze of fresh air swept through the room. She was currently standing on a chair, stretching on tiptoe, using a broom with a towel wrapped around the end to clear cobwebs from the corner.

Industrious little thing.

Despite his resolve to keep things impersonal and his determination to stick to the plan, he couldn’t stifle the spurt of warmth seeping through his chest somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. She was cleaning his room, seeing to his comfort. Her courage and her spirit had called to him. Her beauty, the scent of her, the curve of her smile, her lush body, hell even the freckles on her face, drove him insane with lust. But this kindness despite their brief and oftentimes tense acquaintance touched him.

Why?

He had no friggin’ clue.

What he did know, with blinding clarity, was that if he could have had any woman for his own, any woman in the world, he would have chosen this one. He knew it as he’d never known another truth. He would have chosen Maggie.

And he could never have her.

The anger crept up on him, insidious. Debilitating. The rage inside him began to stir, and the beast reared its ugly head.

Nostrils flared, teeth gritted, Gideon clamped down hard and fast on the monster, shoving wants and desires down deep, burying them beneath a mountain of indifference. He pushed from the doorway and strode into the room.

“What are you doing?” Ice crystals dripped from his tone.

She bobbled the broom, throwing her arms out to balance herself. “Oh, goodness,” she gasped. “You startled me.”