The Dark-Hunters (81 page)

As they headed toward her father’s club, Sunshine held the stranger’s head on her shoulder and brushed his wavy blond hair back from the chiseled features of his face.

There was a wild, untamed look about him that reminded her of some ancient warrior. His golden hair brushed against his shoulders in a loose style that said he was attentive to his appearance, but not obsessive about it.

Dark brown eyebrows arched over his closed eyes. His face was ruggedly scrumptious with a full day’s growth of beard. Even unconscious, he was compelling and drop-dead gorgeous, and his nearness stirred something needful deep inside her.

But what she liked most about this stranger was the warm masculine and leather scent of him. It made her want to nuzzle his neck and inhale the heady mixture until she was drunk with it.

“So,” Wayne said as he drove. “What happened to him? Do you know?”

“He got hit by a Mardi Gras float.”

Even in the dim light of the truck’s cab, she could tell Wayne was giving her the are-you-nuts? stare. “There’s no parade tonight. Where did it come from?”

“I don’t know. I guess he must have ticked off the gods or something.”

“Huh?”

She brushed her hand through the man’s tousled blond hair and toyed with the two thin braids that hung from his left temple as she answered Wayne’s question. “It was a big Bacchus float. I was just thinking this poor guy must have offended our patron god of excess to have been run over by him.”

Wayne muttered under his breath. “Must be another frat-boy prank. Seems like every year one of them is stealing a float and taking a joy ride in it. I wonder where they’ll leave it parked this time?”

“Well, they tried to park it on my friend here. I’m just glad they didn’t kill him.”

“I’m sure he will be too, when he wakes up.”

No doubt. Sunshine leaned her cheek against the stranger’s head and listened to his slow, deep breaths.

What was it about him that she found so irresistible?

“Man,” Wayne said after a brief silence. “Your father is going to be pissed about this. He’ll have my balls for dinner when he finds out I took an unknown guy up to your place.”

“Then don’t tell him.”

Wayne gave her a mean and nasty glare. “I cannot not tell him. If something happened to you, it would be my fault.”

She sighed irritably as she traced the sharp line of the stranger’s arched brows. Why did he seem so familiar to her? She’d never seen him before and yet she had a strange sense of déjà vu. As if she knew him somehow.

Weird. Very, very weird.

But then she was used to weirdness. Her mother had written the book on the subject, and Sunshine had redefined it.

“I’m a big girl, Wayne, I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah and I lived for twelve years with a bunch of big hairy men who made meals off little girls like you who thought they could take care of themselves.”

“Fine,” she said. “We’ll put him in my bed and I’ll sleep at my parents’. Then in the morning, I’ll check on him with my mother or one of my brothers.”

“What if he wakes up before you get home and steals you blind?”

“Steals what?” she asked. “My clothes won’t fit him and I have nothing of any value. Not unless he likes my Peter, Paul and Mary collection anyway.”

Wayne rolled his eyes. “All right, but you better swear to me you won’t give him a chance to hurt you.”

“I promise.”

Wayne looked less than pleased, but he remained technically quiet as he drove them toward her loft on Canal Street. However, he cursed underneath his breath the entire way.

Luckily Sunshine was used to ignoring men who did that around her.

Once they reached her loft, which was located directly over her father’s bar, it took them a good fifteen minutes to get the stranger out of the truck and inside her home.

Sunshine led Wayne through her loft to the area where she’d strung tie-dyed pink cotton fabric along a wire to seal her bedroom area off from the rest of the large room.

Carefully, they placed her unknown guest on her bed.

“Well, let’s go,” Wayne said, taking her by the arm.

Sunshine gently shrugged his touch away. “We can’t leave him like that.”

“Why not?”

“He’s covered in blood.”

Wayne’s face showed his exasperation. It was a look everyone had around her sooner or later—okay, it was most often sooner. “Go sit on the couch and let me undress him.”

“Sunshine…”

“Wayne, I’m twenty-nine years old, a divorced artist who took nude drawing in college, and I was raised with two older brothers. I know what men look like naked. Okay?”

Growling low in his throat, he stepped out of her bedroom and went to sit on her sofa.

Sunshine took a deep breath as she turned back to her hero dressed all in black. He looked humongous on her bed.

He was also a total mess.

Tentatively, so as not to hurt him, she reached to unzip his motorcycle jacket, which was the neatest thing she’d ever seen. Someone had painted gold and red Celtic scrollwork all over it. It was simply beautiful. A true study in ancient artistry, and she should know. All her life, she had been drawn to Celtic things. She’d cut her teeth on their art and culture.

As soon as she unzipped the jacket, she paused in shock as she saw he wore nothing underneath it. Nothing except lush, tawny skin that made her mouth water and her body instantly throb. Never in real life had she beheld a man with a body so hard and so well toned. Every muscle was defined, and even while relaxed, his strength was evident.

The man was a god!

She ached to draw those perfect proportions and immortalize them. A body this fine definitely needed preserving. She pulled the jacket off and carefully laid it on the bed.

Turning on the lamp that rested on her scarf-covered nightstand, she took a good look at him and was floored by what she saw.

Ca-ram-ba!

He was even more gorgeous than the people who had attacked her. His wavy blond hair curled becomingly around the nape of his neck, and two long, thin braids hung down to his bare chest. His eyes were closed, but his dark eyelashes were sinfully long. His face was perfectly sculpted with high, arching brows and he had a very dignified, yet untamed look to him.

Again, she had a strange sense of déjà vu as her mind flashed on an image of him awake and poised above her. Of him smiling down at her while he slid himself slowly in and out of her body …

Sunshine licked her lips at the thought as she throbbed in painful need.

It had been a long time since she had been this attracted to a stranger. But something about this man really made her ache for a taste of him.

Girl, you have been too long without a man.

Unfortunately, she really had.

Sunshine frowned as she moved closer and got a better look at the torc he wore around his neck. Thick and gold, it had Celtic dragon heads facing each other.

What was so odd was that she’d sketched that very same design years ago in art school and had even tried to cast it into a torc for herself, but the piece had ended up a big mess. It took a lot of metalworking talent to make something that intricate.

Even more impressive was the tribal body tattoo that covered the entire left side of his torso, including his left arm. It was a glorious maze of Celtic artwork that reminded her of the Book of Kells. And unless she missed her guess, it was designed as a tribute to the Celtic war goddess, the Morrigán.

Without thought, she ran her hand over his tattoo, tracing the intricate design.

His right arm had a matching three-inch band of scrollwork around the biceps.

Incredible. Whoever had drawn his tattoos certainly knew their Celtic history.

And as her finger brushed against his nipple, she was jarred from her artist’s appreciation of the design.

The woman in her snapped to the forefront as her gaze darted over his lean muscular ribs and abs so tight and well formed they should be part of a body-builder show.

Oh yeah, this was one fine-looking man.

Even though there was a lot of blood on his pants, there didn’t appear to be any injury to have caused it. Come to think of it, there weren’t even many bruises. Not even where the Bacchus truck had slammed into him.

How weird was that?

Her throat dry, Sunshine reached for his fly.

Part of her couldn’t wait to see what was underneath those black pants.

Boxers or briefs?

If he was this studly fine so far, it could only get better …

Sunshine!

It was just an artist’s appreciation for his body, she told herself.

Yeah, right.

Ignoring that thought, she unzipped his pants and discovered that he wore
nothing
underneath them.

Commando!

Her face flamed at the sight of his extremely endowed maleness nestled against dark blond curls.

Oh come on, Sunshine, it’s not the first time you’ve seen a guy naked. Jeez! Six years of art school, you saw naked men galore. And you’ve had plenty of them to date, not to mention that Jerry the ex-ogre wasn’t exactly small.

Yeah, but none of them had looked
this
good.

Biting her lip, she pulled his heavy, black Harley boots off, then slid his pants down his long, muscular legs. She hissed as her hands came in contact with his skin, which was liberally laced with short blond hairs.

Oh yeah, he was definitely hot and fine.

As she folded the pants, she paused and ran her hand over the fabric. They were made of the softest material she’d ever touched. Almost like chamois, only different. It was a strange texture. They couldn’t possibly be real leather. They were so thin and—

Her thoughts stopped as she caught sight of him on her bed.

Oh yeah, baby.
Now that was every woman’s fantasy. A gorgeous naked guy at her mercy.

He lay across the pink comforter with one tanned arm draped over his stomach and his legs slightly apart, as if waiting for her to join him there and run her hands up and down that lean, hard body.

He was a luscious one to stare at.

She sucked her breath between her teeth as she ached to climb up that strong, magnificent body and lay herself over him like a blanket. To feel his large, strong hands on her skin as she took him into her body and made wild monkey love to him for the rest of the night.

Umm-hmmm!

Her lips burned for a taste of that marvelous golden skin. And he was
all
golden skin. There wasn’t a tan line on him.

Gimme!

Sunshine shook her head to clear it. Goodness, she was acting like a total goober over him.

And yet …

There was something very special about this man. Something that called out to her like a siren’s song.

“Sunshine?”

She jumped at Wayne’s impatient call. She’d completely forgotten his presence. “Just a minute,” she said.

I just want one more peek.
A woman needed a good ogle every now and again, and how often did a woman get a chance to ogle an unconscious handsome god?

Resisting the urge to fondle her guest, she covered him with a blanket, picked his jacket up from the bed, then left the room.

As she walked to the sofa, she studied his bloodied pants. Where had the blood come from?

Before she could investigate the pants, Wayne pulled them from her hands and grabbed the wallet out of the back pocket.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Checking him out. I want to see who this guy is.” Wayne opened the wallet and scowled.

“What?”

“Let’s see, seven hundred and thirty-three dollars in cash and not a bit of ID. Not even a license or credit or debit card.” Wayne pulled a huge dagger out of the other pocket and flicked a release that spread the dagger out into a circle of three lethal-looking blades. Wayne cursed even louder. “Shit, Sunshine, I think you found yourself a drug dealer.”

“He’s not a drug dealer.”

“Oh yeah, how do you know?”

Because drug dealers don’t rescue women from rapists.
But she didn’t dare tell Wayne that. It would only get her lectured and give him indigestion.

“I just do, now put that back.”

*   *   *

“Well?” Camulus asked Dionysus as Dionysus entered the hotel room.

Styxx looked up from his magazine at the sound of his voice. The Celtic god, Camulus, had been sitting on the couch across from him in the hotel suite while they had waited for news.

Dressed in black leather jeans and a gray sweater, the ancient deity had been flipping channels incessantly since Dionysus left, making Styxx want to snatch the remote from his hand and slam it down on the iron-and-glass coffee table.

But only a fool took a remote from a god.

Styxx might have a death wish, but he had no desire to be ruthlessly tortured before he died.

So Styxx had gnashed his teeth and done his best to ignore Camulus and wait for Dionysus’s return.

Camulus wore his long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. There was something devilish and evil about him, but then, given the fact he was a god of war, that was understandable.

Dionysus paused just inside the door. He shrugged out of his long cashmere coat, then pulled his brown leather gloves from his hands.

At six ten, the god of wine and excess would be an intimidating sight to most people. But then, Styxx was only two inches shorter, and being the son of a king and a man who longed for death, he found very little intimidating.

What was Dionysus going to do? Send him back to his hellish isolation?

He’d been there, done that, and had the Ozzy T-shirt to prove it.

Dionysus was dressed in a tweed jacket, navy turtleneck, and pleated brown slacks. His short dark brown hair was perfectly streaked with blond highlights and he had an immaculate goatee. He looked like a successful billionaire magnate, and did, in fact, run a major international corporation where the god got his jollies by crippling his competitors and taking over other businesses.

Forced against his will into retirement centuries ago, Dionysus spent his time between Olympus and the mortal world, which he hated almost as much as Styxx did.