Truth or Demon (35 page)

He smiled, hugging Poppy and then shaking Killian’s hand. “I hear we are celebrating more than a wedding today.”

Poppy grinned. “Yes. Little Red School House Press offered to buy my book. Thank you so much for mentioning me to the editor.”

Poppy had received a call yesterday from an editor who wanted to publish her first children’s book,
Lily and the Demon.

“No problem. Congratulations to you. Both.”

Killian hugged Poppy to him, his pride clear for all to see.

“Married to my soul mate and a published author,” she sighed. “Life is perfect.”

“It is,” he agreed.

She couldn’t help asking, “But don’t you miss being immortal?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Even if we only had one hour, I’d take that over an eternity without you.”

Poppy smiled at him, knowing he meant it. She also knew life was too precious to spend time guarding herself against hurt and loss. She’d done that, and had been lonely and sad.

Now she planned to live every moment. With her family by her side.

If you liked this book, try Rebecca Zanetti’s FATED, in stores now …

“M
ama! Mama, wake up.” Tiny hands clutched at Cara’s worn nightshirt, shaking with all their might. Cara’s eyes flew open, and her heart hitched in her chest. Terrified blue eyes speared her through the dusk of the morning. The little girl must have had another nightmare. “Janie, sweetheart, what?”

“They’re coming. They’re coming now, the bad men. We have to run.” Janie’s breath came in sharp gasps before she let out a high-pitched sob.

Cara shook her head, reaching out to enfold her daughter in a hug. She slowed her own breathing, the need to comfort her child overwhelming her. Poor Janie. Not another nightmare. She reached for her reading glasses on the table only to realize she’d fallen asleep with them on. Again. The newest edition of
Botanical Magazine
hadn’t been the barn-burner she’d expected.

She smoothed Janie’s hair down while silence echoed around them. Now more than ever, she wished Simon had lived; maybe he could have soothed their daughter’s fears. She flipped on the antique pink Depression-glass lamp. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m sure it was just a bad drea—”

A loud crash came from the other room, and Cara yelped. The sound of splintering wood propelled her to action. She leapt from the bed, yanked Janie into her arms, and sprinted for the master bath, barely missing the potted fern in the corner. Her heart slamming against her ribs, she locked the door and rushed toward the small window. She failed to unlock it before the thin door burst open behind her.

A broad hand stopped the door from clanging against the wall. At least six and a half feet of muscle-packed male filled the doorway.

With a cry, she dropped Janie to her feet and dodged in front of the four-year-old. The air caught in her throat, and her ears started to ring as adrenaline spiked through her blood. This was not happening. She yanked her head to the side and forced herself to accept the situation. Accept that she needed to fight. She dragged oxygen into her tight lungs and searched the tiled counter for a weapon—her tweezers probably wouldn’t harm anybody.

She pushed Janie back against the wall. Retreating a step, she held one hand out to ward off the threat. His size made her gulp. Brown eyes raked her from his hard cut face, and raven-black hair reached his collar with a freedom that disavowed any ties to the military—although he wore the requisite flack boots and dark jeans under a bulletproof vest. She’d seen the gear on a Discovery Channel special about soldiers.

The energy emanating from him stole her breath.

“Get out,” she said, shielding her child. Trying to shield herself from the feelings he threw at her. Anger, passion, and urgency all swirled together, mixing with her own panic and making her light-headed. Her knees wobbled, and her head began to ache. She usually blocked better than this. Or maybe his emotions were just that strong.

“We need to go.” His tone was water over sharp rocks, as if he was trying to gentle a naturally rough voice. Then his eyes dropped to her faded nightshirt to see the image of Einstein surrounded by shopping bags, QUANTUM SHOPPING. His top lip quirked up, and a dimple winked. Her heartbeat slowed in response. Then he stalked a step closer, his hands at his sides, and her gaze flew to the gun on his hip, to the several knives secured in his vest.

Her heart leapt back into action. “You have the wrong house.” She glared up at his implacable face—a face cut from granite with a jaw made to take a punch. She’d have to jump to even come close.

The scent of spiced pine and male infused the room.

He shook his head. A pit the size of a large rock settled in her stomach as adrenaline slammed the room into sharp focus. Her breath came in short pants, and her scientific mind sought an answer. A way to take his massive frame down. She stamped down on the rising panic when nothing came to mind, and again searched for a weapon, spotting the tiny Fittonia “White Anne” in the terra-cotta planter. She couldn’t throw Annie at the man; the plant would never survive.

The intruder took another step to peer over her shoulder. “It will be okay. We have to go.” His large hand encircled Cara’s bicep before dragging her into the bedroom. Fear seized her vocal cords for a moment, and her mind scattered. Should she tell Janie to run? Could she slow him down long enough?

Then, with a muffled curse, he dropped her arm. A low growl emanated from him as he peered at his hand. He wiped it on his pant leg and grabbed her again. What had been on her shirt?

The phone near the bed caught her eye, and she lunged for it. He jerked her back, his hand warm and firm on her arm. Cara dug her feet into the carpet, but their forward momentum didn’t slow, so she tried to yank away as he pulled her toward a basket of clothes at the foot of the bed.

“Janie, follow us,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Cara coughed out air. He knew Janie’s name. This wasn’t random. Fear choked her again. “How do you know her name?”

He pivoted until she smacked flush against him. Heat filled her, surrounded her. His hands settled on her arms, and his determination and intent beat at her. Damn it. She couldn’t block him—she sucked as an empath. Then he lowered his head.

“I know both of your names, Cara. Listen. My name is Talen Kayrs, and I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help.” Determined eyes captured hers while he gave her a moment. “Take a deep breath. I can feel your power. You can find the truth here. You know I won’t hurt you.” His voice rumbled low. Soothing.

Her body softened from his tone even as her mind rebelled. Her breathing evened out. Danger radiated out of the man, but she could sense no intention to harm her. Or Janie.

Janie tugged on her waist. “It’s okay, Mama. We have to go. They’re coming.”

Cara stepped to the side and nodded. “Fine. We’ll leave. We can follow you.” If she could just get Janie to the car—

He grinned, flashing even white teeth. “You can’t lie worth spit. You have one minute to throw on clothes.” The sound of his rough voice shot nerve endings alive through her skin. But not from fear. He turned toward the door.

“No.” She again tried to wrench away while her body tingled where it met his.

“Then you go in your pajamas.” He grabbed the basket of clothes in his other arm while he towed her into the hallway. “Keep up, Janie.” The little girl stumbled behind, keeping her hands glued to Cara’s waist.

“Wait, no, Mama,” Janie cried out, pulling on her mother. “I need Mr. Mullet.” Her voice rose to a shrill sob.

Talen whirled around and squinted over Cara’s shoulder. “Mr. Mullet?” He eyed the living room entrance and then focused on the little girl.

Cara pressed a hand against his chest, settling her stance to protect her child. “Mr. Mullet is her stuffed bear—she doesn’t go anywhere without him.” If Janie could leave the room, Cara could really fight.

Talen raised an eyebrow, his gaze thoughtful. “Hurry, Janie. Get the bear—we have to go.”

Quick as a flash, Janie darted from the room. Dark eyes met Cara’s, and she wavered, then shot her knee upward to his groin, simultaneously punching her fist toward his face with a fierce grunt.

He shifted, allowing her knee to connect to the muscle of his upper thigh while his arm shot out to stop her punch. His broad hand enclosed her fist inches away from his chin, and the slap of skin on skin echoed around the room. The basket of clothes remained safe in his free arm.

Pain lanced through her leg, and fear cascaded down her spine. Panting out breath, she waited for retaliation. If he hit her, he’d knock her out. What about Janie?

Talen tilted his head to the side, his hand warm around hers. “Is your leg all right?”

He asked about her leg? Seriously? She’d just tried to turn him into a eunuch. “Fine,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Hmmm,” he said, twisting his hand to grasp her wrist and yank her into the living room. “You might want to work on not broadcasting your intent with those pretty blue eyes next time.” Mere politeness colored his tone, not an ounce of anger to be found.

Cara stumbled, truly off balance for the first time that evening.

“I got him, Mama,” Janie chirped, running into the room with the stuffed bear and her worn blankie. “We can go now.”

The front door hung drunkenly split in two. At the sight, Cara began to struggle again. With an exasperated sigh, Talen dropped the basket of clothes, shifted her to the side, and lifted Janie into his arms.

“No!” Cara cried out, reaching for her daughter before pounding on his broad back. Pure instinct moved her to protect Janie, and rage choked her as she beat on his dark vest.

“Get the clothes and move it,” he growled over his shoulder. He crossed the front porch, heading toward a black Hummer idling at the curb.

Cara threw herself against the man holding her child, knocking over the basket. Clothes scattered across the wooden planks.

“Let her go, you bastard!”

He may not intend harm, but he had no right to kidnap them. She clutched one arm around his massive neck as her knees dug into his spine. She jerked hard against his windpipe. A rush of anger slammed through her body, pushing out the fear.

Even with her struggling on his back, his long strides continued toward the vehicle unhampered. He yanked open the rear door, placed Janie in a booster seat, and buckled her in with quick motions. Cara moved to jump off him, only to have him close the door, grab her arm, and pull her around. Two strong hands held her aloft. Hard steel met her backside when he stepped into her, his face lowering to hers. “Stop fighting me.”

His strength was unbelievable. Her own vulnerability beat into her as she realized her nightshirt had risen to reveal pale pink panties. The cool night air rushed across her bare legs. Dark denim scratched the tender skin of her inner thighs, and she opened her mouth to scream.

One swift movement, and his mouth covered hers. Hot, firm, and somehow restrained. The effort of his restraint belted into her. He fought to control himself. Heat slammed through her. A roaring filled her ears, and her breath hitched. Her heart slowed, and time stopped. For a brief moment,
his
heartbeat echoed throughout her body to a spot below her stomach.

He growled low and his mouth moved over hers, no longer silencing her, but tasting. Exploring. One thick arm swept around her waist and pulled her into him; the other lifted to tangle a hand in her hair. He tugged, angled her head more to the side. He went deeper.

She moaned as his tongue met hers. He explored her mouth like he owned it. For a moment, he did. She forgot everything. There were only his lips on hers, demanding. Promising. His heat warmed her as she returned his kiss, pushing closer into his hard body, forgetting reality.

Pure strength surrounded her. Hot. Dangerous. Tempting.

Here’s a peek at INVITATION TO RUIN, the debut novel from Bronwen Evans, out now!

T
hat evening, the entourage walked into the Cavendishes’ ballroom and joined the queue waiting to greet their host and hostess. As they descended the stairs, the whispers behind twitching fans started. Melissa could well imagine what the other guests were saying. She had her arm through Lord Wickham’s, and on his right, so did Cassandra.

She knew the men were praising Lord Wickham’s skill in keeping the ravishing beauty on his right as his mistress, while marrying the plainer, quiet, demure cousin on his left. A raving beauty to bed for pleasure and a wife to bed to provide the much-needed heirs.

Melissa lifted her head high and kept her eyes looking directly ahead, hoping her cheeks had not colored. Never had she wished so fervently for the floor to open up and swallow her. Cassandra played up her part and was spitefully pleased with the ton’s interpretation of events. To reinforce the perception, Lady Sudbury stroked her hand down the arm of Anthony’s jacket until he bent his head and let her whisper something in his ear.

At his gruff laugh there was a surge of activity; the array of fans were fluttering wildly.

This evening was going to be torture.

The line of guests shuffled forward until, with the pleasantries completed, they could move fully into the ballroom. Letting go of Anthony’s arm, Melissa began scouring the room, trying to see if Anthony’s mother or brother were present.

“Are you looking for anyone in particular?” he asked, his voice radiating about as much warmth as a snowflake.

Melissa turned to look at him. Her traitorous breath caught in her throat. How did he do it? She tore her gaze away from the intoxicating sight of him, trying to quell the fluttery sensation developing in her stomach. He was so handsome this evening. The white on black ensemble set his physique off to perfection. The material was tight enough to be considered indecent. Yet Melissa would wager every woman in the room longed to run their hands over the ebony velvet. She longed to feel the hidden strength beneath the soft fabric, the urge as overwhelming as the man himself.

This evening, in his finery, he screamed Lord of Wicked. His silver-gray eyes seemed to deliberately issue an open invitation, a temptation sent to make her sin. Every married woman in the room envied Cassandra, while the young debutantes were miffed they’d not been as brave as Melissa and caught him in matrimony. Her legs felt as if she’d just ridden at full gallop all day. She didn’t dare return his avid gaze. She wasn’t brave or courageous or fearless enough to accept—yet. She let a satisfied smile curve her lips. But she was his.