The darkest seduction - Showalter Gena - Страница 41
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“Must you kill so needlessly?” a male voice asked. Emotionless, and yet there was something in the cadence, something that caressed her ears.
“Yeah. I must.”
Paris! Sienna whirled around, her heart a thunderstorm inside her chest. Her gaze cut through the darkness. Where was— There! Her knees nearly buckled from the ensuing flood of happiness.
“Why?” The speaker was a dark-haired man dressed in a robe, keeping pace beside Paris. He had a sublime face, wicked in its heartless beauty. Majestic wings of white-gold stretched from his back. He looked like a fallen angel, but then, so did Galen. Still, if Paris trusted him, so would she. Snow wafted around him, but only him. The flakes seemed to absorb into his skin and crystallize.
“They were looking at her, threatening her,” Paris said, but if he knew where Sienna waited, he gave no indication, “and my demon knew what they were thinking. They deserved a hell of a lot worse than they got.”
“I caught you, saved you from painting the ground with your organs. You owed me a favor, and I asked for a single day without bloodshed.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t specify which day.” With that, Paris dismissed the angel and at last focused on her.
Tall and strong, scowling, he strode toward her. He had bruises under his eyes and cuts that rode the length of his arms, but his gait, though slow, was steady. Bodies were piled up behind him. She’d thought only two of the creatures were following her, but oh, had she miscalculated. At least eleven had trailed her.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Paris demanded the moment he reached her.
Her gaze fell to his lips. Those lush, red lips that had kissed her and sipped at her and smashed against her own. Lips she craved all over her. “Somewhere else. I’m trying to escape, and doing an excellent job of it, thank you,” she replied.
“Without saying goodbye?” He latched on to her bloodstained wrist, turned her arm left and right, searching for any damage. “Nice, Sienna. Real nice.”
Was he actually mad about that? Guilt rose, followed by shame and even delight. She raised her chin, refusing to buckle under his stare. “If I had returned to the castle—and believe me, my body wants to return and even standing here is a chore—I’d be stuck there again. You said you wanted my curse broken. Well, I’m doing my best to break it.”
He released her, sighed. “Fine. You did the right thing, but I hate the fact that if I hadn’t come after you I never would have seen you again.” He could have accused her of abandoning him, of leaving him there to suffer, or any number of other things. That he hadn’t…
“I hate that, too,” she admitted.
Clearing his throat as though uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation, he massaged his neck. Those ocean-blues looked as if the sun shone behind them, glistening off the water. “Anyway, I don’t want you out here by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”
“Well, I don’t want me out here by myself, either.” A wave of dizziness suddenly hit her, and she swayed.
He examined her from head to toe, some of the angel’s frost setting up shop on his skin. “That’s not just other people’s blood you’re wearing, is it? You’re hurt.”
Concern. For her. If she’d had any resistance left, she would have lost every bit of it in that moment. “I’ll heal.”
“Who hurt you?” Lethal menace in his tone.
“Wrath, when he burst through the window. The other times he took over, he made me walk to the parapet on the castle’s roof. This time he was afraid you’d slow me down. So—” she shrugged “—he picked a faster route.”
The long spikes of Paris’s lashes fused together, barely masking the menace resting behind them. “Don’t let him take over anymore.”
Not the least bit intimidated by the warrior’s growing anger, she rolled her eyes. “Earlier you wanted me to do just that.”
“I changed my mind,” he said, leaning down until they were nose-to-nose. “Don’t push me on this, woman. I’m too keyed up.”
They stayed like that for several seconds, breath mixing, emerging faster. She wanted him to kiss her again, to finish what they’d started.
“This area is not safe,” the other man said, ruining the sensuality of the moment.
Paris jolted upright, his back going ramrod straight. “Sienna, meet Zacharel. He’s a warrior angel for the One, True Deity. Zacharel, meet Sienna. She’s mine.”
A shiver rippled through her. Uh, had he just claimed her? Had he just warned the other male away from her, as if he were possessive of her? Pleasure warmed her up, chasing away the numbing cold the angel had brought with him.
Zacharel offered his hand to her, his fingers long and thick. “I will protect you,” he said, the words somehow an invitation—and a vow.
“No touching,” Paris snapped, pushing the angel away from her. “Ever.”
Zacharel’s neutral expression never wavered, nor did the intensity of his gaze.
She shifted uncomfortably, uncertain why he wanted to protect her. There was a note of truth in his tone, however, one she could not refute. Somehow she knew he would do everything in his power to keep her safe.
Or…maybe that was a trick. Maybe, like Galen, Zacharel built up hopes and smashed them down. Gulping, she looked to Paris for answers. “Is he…”
“Like Galen?” he asked, sensing the direction of her thoughts. “No. He’s the real deal, as well as a self-righteous prig who will test every limit of your patience. He’s also impotent. Now, where are you headed?” He cupped her jaw and forced her focus on him and him alone.
The heat of his touch…the rough texture of his palms…another shiver stole through her. “I’m not sure.” Did she sound as breathless to him as she did to herself? “I was walking aimlessly, searching for the exit. You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”
“Yeah. Two days’ walk in the other direction.”
“Oh.” She’d have to pass the castle, then, and if she passed it, she would be drawn inside. No question. If she went inside, she wouldn’t come out again.
“I’ll take you,” he said at the same time Zacharel said, “I can fly you there in just a few hours. And I am not impotent. I have simply never experienced desire.”
Whoa. Talk about an attention stealer. Questions immediately poured through her mind. Why not? Were angels asexual? How old was he? What kind of woman could break through that icy shell and jump-start his hormones?
Maybe when things settled down she would set the angel up with someone—not that she knew anyone—because no one should go without physical contact of some kind. It hurt.
When she’d first opened her eyes and discovered her new ghostly form, she had tried to touch someone, anyone. No one had sensed her, in any way, and her mind had threatened to snap from the lack of sensation.
“You’re not flying her anywhere,” Paris growled. He’d been watching her, she realized, gauging her reaction to Zacharel’s offer. “I told you. No touching. Besides that, she stays with me, by my side. That’s nonnegotiable.”
She could have argued with him. Shouldhave argued with him. They had no future together, and prolonging the inevitable would destroy her in the end. But the thought of two more days with him proved irresistible.
“I stay with him,” she said with a nod.
A flare of satisfaction sparked in Paris’s eyes as he, too, nodded his approval.
“After you have a woman, you quickly grow tired of her,” Zacharel said. “Is that why you are so eager to be alone with this one?” He sounded genuinely curious rather than waspish, yet the words stung all the same. “If that is the case, then I will gladly allow you some time together.”
She must have flinched, because Paris released her and spun for attack, two daggers in his hands.
“Do you wantto die?”
Zacharel remained focused on her. “You have only to say my name, female, and I will come for you.” He vanished.
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