Temptation, Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 3 (5 page)

Damn, she’d pegged all three of them. He began to wonder what other little gifts her angelic blood had given her.

“Three?” He injected a note of incredulity into his tone, and watched the color in her cheeks darken. “I’m thinkin’ it’s a good thing I decided not to ask you to dance after all. You seem to make a habit of leavin’ a trail of broken hearts in your wake.” He didn’t know why he was messing with her like this, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Oh, it’s not like that at all!” the Halfling blurted, then seemed to catch herself. “I mean, ah…”

“It’s okay.” He relented, grinning. “I’ll get you out of here without them seeing you. Trust me?”

She stared up at him, long and hard, her brow furrowed. As if she was trying to read the secrets of his soul. Again, power surged around her, so strong he feared Stolas’s minions would home in on her. Tilting her head, her lips slightly parted, she drew a deep breath.

“You’re dangerous,” she murmured. “But you don’t intend to cause me harm.” Then, louder, she added, “Yes, I trust you.”

“I have one little stipulation.” That had been rule number two. Find what your target needed and use it as a bargaining tool. Asher wasn’t the only one with a corner on that market. Tempt them with what they wanted most. But hold it just out of reach until they were willing to do anything you wanted, anything you asked to get what they needed. He’d always been one ruthless SOB, willing to fight dirty to get the job done and done well.

Smiling now, feeling like a wolf in the company of an unsuspecting sheep, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the cuff, regarding her suspicious expression with something akin to dark amusement. This was too easy. Dangling the cuff by the tip of one finger to minimize the chance for her to touch—or rather, not touch—him, he said, “You have to accept this, willingly.”

Her eyebrows shot upward as she stared at his offering. “I don’t understand.” She shook her head, clearly confused. “You want me to accept your bracelet, in exchange for you helping me to slip by the…ah, by them.”

“Yep.” He let the breath he realized he’d been holding seep out slowly, unobtrusively.

“But—”

“Better hurry,” he interrupted, feigning a glance over his shoulder. While he could still sense the demonic presence in the building, and he could feel they were moving around, he could also tell they were not moving closer. Yet. “They could head this way any minute.”

She caught the tip of her thumbnail between her teeth for a moment, indecision etched on her face. Gideon wiggled his finger, sending the silver cuff swaying like a pendulum before her eyes, silver glinting in the strobe lights from behind him.

“Okay.” She capitulated, her expression stating that he should be checking himself into the nearest psych unit. Then something behind him caught her attention and she quickly added, “But you have to understand this—the jewelry—it doesn’t mean anything. I have a boyfriend.”

Gideon didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help gritting his teeth. For some reason, the idea of another man claiming her didn’t sit all that well with him. Another man caressing her perfect skin, molding that delectable flesh with his hands, tasting those luscious lips—

The beast living inside him, just beneath his skin, rose up and snarled. Gideon schooled his features and took a calming breath, reminding himself this was a mission. His last mission. And then? Oblivion. He had no business caring one way or the other who touched or kissed her.

Let her father worry about her. The rat bastard. The being who’d taken Gideon’s fall as a personal betrayal. The being who’d sworn to end Gideon no matter the cost.

The being who’d once been Gideon’s best friend.

“Do you accept the cuff?” he pressed, pushing the past aside. Last mission, he reminded himself. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could end his suffering.

Frowning, she met his gaze as she reached for it. “Yes.”

He lifted the cuff a few inches higher, eluding her grasp. “Willingly?”

Now she regarded him as if he’d flat out lost his mind. Like she was beginning to have second thoughts. She even glanced at the dance floor again, as if to gauge her chances of ditching him and slipping out on her own. But the exits were still covered.

Frowning, she reached again. “Willingly,” she added, her voice an odd mix of resignation and determination.

Cocking his head, he lowered the cuff within her reach. Taking the silver in her hands, she fingered the hammered metal, running the pad of her thumb over the carvings.

“What does this say?” But as she glanced up in expectation of an answer, her attention swerved to his side. “Oh, crap. Here they come! Your turn,” she blurted. “How do we get out of here?”

“Put it on,” he prompted.

“They’re coming!”

“Put it on,” he urged.

“Oh, for the love of—” She snapped the cuff onto her wrist, then held it up and shook it so he could see she’d complied. “There. Happy now?” But her exasperation quickly turned to a frown as she examined the cuff more closely, and realized there was no way to release it. “Hey, how does this come off?”

His grin grew far more wicked than it had any right to be. “It doesn’t.”

Her mouth fell open. Alarm flooded her pretty features. Gideon chuckled. Pulling in his power, focusing his energy, he visualized the kitchen in Sebastian’s farmhouse.

Chapter Three

A piercing scream nearly shattered his eardrums. Gideon cringed, his gaze darting to the pale, shaking woman a few feet away.

“Well, damn! It actually worked.” Bemused, he held the cuff on his own wrist up in wonder.

A flash of movement at the edge of his peripheral vision was the only warning he got. A split second later, he ducked as a toaster went sailing past his head. The small appliance no more than crashed into the cupboard behind him, clattering loudly to the floor, before the Keurig followed. Dodging the latest missile, he moved to the side, tracking his charge.

Maggie dug through drawers and doors, yanking out whatever came to hand, throwing it at Gideon with all her might.

“What did you do to me?” she shouted. A handful of cooking utensils rained down upon his head and shoulders as he ducked behind a kitchen chair. A coffee mug, blessedly empty, soon followed, shattering on the floor beside him. “Where am I? How did you get me here?”

“Now, just calm down—”

A large butcher’s blade imbedded itself in the cabinet door near his head with a resounding thud. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! Where am I?” she yelled as she grabbed hold of a frying pan and let it fly. It clipped his shoulder. Her aim was improving.

This shit was so not what he’d signed up for.

“Sebastian!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “You rotten bastard, get down here!” He dodged a cutting board, batting it aside with his forearm. That was going to leave a bruise. Couldn’t the Demon of Vengeance hear Maggie destroying his kitchen? Where the hell was he?

Pulling his phone from his back pocket, trying semisuccessfully to stay out of her line of fire, he punched in Sebastian’s speed dial number. It went straight to voicemail. The bastard. He’d done this on purpose.

He tried Mikhail next. Also voicemail. He hadn’t really expected anything else, but he was desperate and had to give it a try.

He thumbed in Xander’s number, and he waited, tense and alert for the next projectile. A drawer was jerked out so hard it crashed to the floor, and all the while, she aimed a furious verbal tirade at his head.

“Yeah?” The crackle and hiss of plasma balls echoed over the phone line, mingling with Xander’s ragged breathing.

“I have the Halfling.” A spatula slapped his cheek. “Son of a—”

“You want a medal?” Xander’s harsh voice rasped over the line.

Asshole. “I want somebody to come get her. We’re at the farm, but Sebastian isn’t here.”

“I’m busy,” Xander snapped. A second later, a loud explosion on Xander’s end caused Gideon to jerk the phone from his ear for a moment.

“But—”

“Got a shitstorm going on here. You actually need something, or d’you just call to whine?”

“Look, where’s Kyanna? I’ll take the Halfling to her and—”

“No!”

“Why the hell not?”

“Every demon tied to this rebellion is going to be gunning for that Halfling. Probably any angel that catches wind of her existence too. You are not bringing that danger to my woman’s door. No.”

The line went dead.

Despite the fact that Kyanna herself was a Guardian of one of the Sacred Relics, experienced in the ways of angelic enchantments and all manner of mystical protections, Xander, the Demon Slayer, guarded her more fiercely than a mother bear with a lone cub. If Xander had hidden Kyanna away, you’d have better luck stumbling over the Crown Jewels on display at a sidewalk sale.

He knew then and there it’d be useless to call Niklas to ask for Carly’s help. Niklas was every bit as protective of his own mate as Xander was his. Damn it.

Desperation clawed at him. He tried Sebastian’s phone one more time.

“Yo.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“Great Falls, Michigan. The lead was a bust.” The bastard sounded perturbed. Good.

Gideon snarled. “Why aren’t you here?”

“Still chasing after the new Guardian. Got a fresh lead,” Sebastian said.

He didn’t give two shits about some new Guardian of the Sword of Kathnesh. The sword was a lost cause. The old Guardian hadn’t done his job. The new Guardian didn’t even have anything to guard. Gideon already had the Halfling, for the love of Saint Peter. Capturing her had been shockingly easy, thanks to the three demons that’d shown up at the nightclub. Granted, she was currently off the rails and desperately needed subduing. Something he couldn’t do, compliments of his curse. He needed help. Now. “I have the Halfling. We’re at the farm. You need to come take care of her.”

Crouched behind the table, Gideon raked a hand through his hair. To hell with his so-called brothers and their fickle loyalty. What had he done to deserve this? A series of plates shattered against the countertop beside him. Gideon scooted out of the way, swearing beneath his breath as shards of broken dishes rained down upon him.

“What the hell was that?” Sebastian barked. “Dude! Did you let some demon follow you to my place?”

“That was the Halfling. She’s renovating your kitchen. Next we’re moving to the living room. I’m sure she’d love to use your flat screen rather than my head as a target.”

“Harsh, dude. Harsh. Why is she tearing my kitchen apart?”

“Because I shimmered her without warning her first and she’s not too happy with me.”

“So pour on some of that legendary charm of yours and save what’s left of my kitchen, man.”

“Kind of hard to pour on the charm,” Gideon growled, “when every time I show my face, she tries smashing something into it.”

Raucous laughter poured through the line.

“Glad to hear you find this so amusing. I wasn’t kidding about that TV, you know?”

Sebastian’s mirth slowly wound down. “It’d be worth it! Finally, a woman who hasn’t fallen under your spell.”

“Glad you’re so fond of her. Here’s an idea. Get your ass home and
you
take care of her.”

“Can’t.” The sound of a plastic wrapper crinkled over the line. “I’m closing in on the professor. I think I finally pinned her down. Call Niklas or Xander.”

“Tried. They don’t want her in the same state as Kyanna or Carly. Worried she’ll draw too much heat.”

“They’re probably right.”

“That’s helpful,” Gideon snapped through gritted teeth.

“Careful.” Sebastian chuckled. “You’re going to give Xander a run for his money as the reigning king of sarcasm at that rate. Look, you’re just going to have to deal with her for a little while longer. Take her back to your place and keep her under wraps for a bit.”

“Yeah, so she can wreck my stuff?” Never mind that he’d already wrecked it.

“Tie her up,” Sebastian suggested unhelpfully.

Actually…

Gideon found the idea very appealing. More appealing than it should be. For far more reasons than protecting his home from her propensity to throw things.

“Look, dude, I gotta go. I’ll call when I have more information. Have fun.”

Gideon opened his mouth to protest, but the phone went dead before he could utter a sound.

Gideon glanced down at the phone in his hand and, growling, he struggled not to crush the slim device in his fist. That selfish, rotten, no-good, Garnoch-kissing bastard.

His anger at Xander and the others over abandoning him in his time of need distracted him. The sharp corner of something clipped his shoulder. Damn it, she’d drawn blood that time. Granted, the wound was shallow and would be gone in less than a few minutes, but still, she’d drawn blood.

Gideon scuttled to his left and pulled one of the ladder-backed chairs in front of him as a shield. He ground his teeth together. This was ridiculous. Women didn’t throw things at him. Well, unless it was intimate articles of clothing. Or themselves. His gaze skimmed her womanly body through the slats, and he began to wonder what kind of intimate undergarments she might choose for herself. She looked like a lace kind of girl. All sugar and spice. Black lace for sure. Maybe a little more spice than sugar.

Hmm…

Shocked by the very real tremors of the first true, burning lust he’d felt in longer than he cared to consider, Gideon berated himself.

No! Don’t go there. Not like you can do anything about it anyway. This is the last mission, remember? Then Oblivion. Focus!

Nettled frustration began to worm its way through his system. Frustration and no small amount of desperation. Not because he wanted her—wanted her as he hadn’t wanted another woman in…well, ever…wanted her more than he dared to admit even to himself—but because she was proving to be an aggravating, royal pain in the ass. Yeah, that was what had him frustrated, he assured himself, striving to ignore the thread of desperation worming its way through his system. She was a pain in the ass. Women didn’t throw cookware at him. Women loved him.

At least, they used to. Before he’d been cursed. And even after that, they’d still flirted outrageously with him, thrown themselves at him, though he was ever vigilant to never let them touch him—or not touch, as it were.

So maybe she had a right to be irate with him. He’d never shimmered a woman anywhere before. A tiny part of him suffered a sliver of guilt. Kyanna and Carly both had complained about the sensations shimmering caused. And he hadn’t warned Maggie about what he intended to do at all. How had he expected her to react?

A whisk whizzed past his ear. “What the hell are you?”

Sweet Christ!
How many kitchen doodads did Sebastian seriously need? She was bound to run out of ammunition sooner or later…wasn’t she?

He heard another drawer rattle open. A handful of forks rained down upon his head, followed by spoons and butter knives.

All right. Enough was enough. He was a demon—a former general in Lucifer’s army, no less—not some spineless Charocté. He didn’t cower from anyone, especially not some tiny Halfling female that didn’t even come up to his chin.

Pushing to his full height, he scowled and pointed a finger at her. “Damn it! Stop throwing things at me,” he thundered.

He might have once been a legendary seducer, tempting even the most stalwart and pious with their darkest desires, but he could also be one scary SOB when he wanted. Usually he reserved this dangerous, dark side of his temper for others of his kind, but she’d hit the limits of his patience. She was bringing his wrath down on her own head, damn it.

“Screw you.” A rolling pin smacked against the center of his chest hard enough to leave another bruise. He gasped in shock. In outrage. Demons trembled in the face of his wrath. He couldn’t wrap his mind around her reactions to him. Her resistance. Her rebellion.

Her pupils had dilated, and he could sense her fear, but she hadn’t backed down. Not one tiny bit.

Admiration swelled inside him. Brave girl.

No! Foolish girl
, he corrected. He could not afford to soften toward her.
Foolish!

“Calm down—don’t throw that!” He ducked as a hand mixer crashed into the cupboard behind him. “Give me a few minutes, I can explain.”

She paused then, chest heaving, shoulder length brown hair straggling from her lopsided ponytail, beguiling eyes wild and wide, clutching another large knife ominously in her raised fist.

Dear God, she is so damned sexy!

No! Do. Not. Go. There!

“You have two minutes.” She patted at her back pocket with her free hand before pulling out a slim cell phone. Her thumb hovered over a button. “Then I’m calling the police.”

Oh, to hell with this. Focusing, he visualized the kitchen of his plantation. Then, glancing around at the havoc she’d created, he changed his mind, instead visualizing his den.

Heat swelled in his chest, power coalesced. His surroundings blurred, falling away, and were soon replaced with familiar furnishings. The massive stone fireplace on the far wall, with a modern flat screen TV above it. Shelves and shelves of old books running the length of one wall. His big mahogany desk. Everything was in place in his den, clean and organized.

Hmm.
His path of destruction must not have reached this room yet.

But he didn’t stop there, didn’t pause. He conjured ropes and darted close to her the moment Maggie solidified. Close enough to intimidate her while she was already disoriented, so close she instinctively stepped back to get away from him. Her face was chalky white, and she gasped, blinking as she tumbled onto the chair behind her. And then she was screaming again. Dazed as she was, he made short work of relieving her of the knife she’d still been clutching, as well as her cell phone, and tied her wrists and ankles to the chair, careful as always not to let his hands brush her skin.

She was already freaked out enough as it was. Imagine how she’d react when she realized his hands could ghost right through her.

Stepping back, he reached over and turned on the lamp. Soft golden light flooded the immediate area, leaving the far corners, the bookshelves and the fireplace in the shadows. And all the while, her shrill screams echoed inside the room, ringing in his ears.

Prowling around her, he stepped close to the back of her chair and bent near her ear. The scent of her, cinnamon and vanilla, made his mouth water. The heat of her skin tempted him as nothing else could. Her ponytail had come undone, and the warm brown tresses tumbled around her shoulders now. Unable to help himself, he reached out to skim the backs of his fingers over her hair, but quickly drew back at the last moment, knowing it would only torment him.

Seeing his hand against her hair, but not being able to feel the warmth, the silken texture, it was just too cruel.

“Stop screaming or I’ll gag you as well. There’s no one here to hear you anyway,” he growled.

The scream quickly morphed into less than helpful—and physically difficult, if not completely impossible—suggestions. He shook his head, conjured a gag, and stuffed it into her mouth. He tied it behind her head, extra careful not to let his fingers come in contact with those tempting strands.

After pulling out the matching chair in front of his desk and spinning it around to straddle it, Gideon sat facing her. That brilliant, furious aquamarine glare cut him to ribbons.