I’m used to waiting. A slayer learns to exercise patience, or they don’t make it past their first op.
That doesn’t mean I like waiting. In fact, waiting is on my Top Ten List of Least Favorite Things to Do. No, make that Top Five.
Right now, waiting was torture. I wanted to be out in the city, gathering intel. I wanted to know who, exactly, was willing to pay 500 grand to eliminate me and Zaq.
And then I wanted to kick their ass.
But we needed Xavier’s intel; and to be honest, I wasn’t up to kicking ass right now.
So I paced the living room while Zaq watched from one of the couches, his long arms spread along the back, seemingly relaxed, which kinda made me hate him.
I stopped and did some easy pivots at the waist, letting my arms swing loosely around my torso. Testing how much the hole in my side could take, and considering our next step, although that depended on what Xavier found out.
What I didn’t do was think about what Zaq had said about us being mates.
Well, okay, I did. In fact, I conducted an argument with myself in my head. Telling myself all the reasons it wouldn’t work, why I couldn’t let myself love him.
All I did was make my brain hurt.
Around the time I started my tenth circuit around the loft, Zaq rose from the couch. “Why don’t we shoot some pool?”
I considered that, then said, “What I’d really like is a switchblade. Or maybe a couple.”
“Come with me.” He crossed to a beautiful, honey-colored mid-century cabinet with metal legs that stuck out at angles like an old-style TV antenna and opened the doors. “Take your pick.”
I stared at the array of daggers, stilettos and switchblades like other women would a case full of jewels. I literally salivated.
I swallowed, licked my lips. “I can have anything I want?”
“Yep. Take two or three, actually. Wanna spar with me?”
“Yeah.” I shot him a grateful look. “I’m going crazy here.”
The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I noticed.”
I hefted several blades, testing their weight and feel, before deciding on a pair of identical switchblades with stainless steel handles. I released the knives and traced a pattern in the air with them. “These’ll work.”
Zaq selected two switchblades for himself. “I’m not as good as you with the left hand, but I’ll give it a try.”
He moved a couch and a couple of chairs to the side of the room, and we faced off on a large kilim rug.
“Step off the rug and you lose,” he said. “Otherwise, first person with three touches wins the round.”
I nodded my agreement, and we circled each other, moving slowly, testing out moves. I was stiff—everywhere—and my wound twinged every time I raised my arm too high.
I worked through the stiffness until my muscles loosened.
Zaq parried my first thrusts but kept circling without attempting to strike at me. It took me a minute to realize he was giving me time to warm up. Making sure I didn’t overdo it.
Taking care of me.
Warmth bloomed in my chest like a big fat flower and spread to my mouth. I was still feeling good from laughing with him. From knowing that he wanted a chance with me.
That good feeling made me grin at Zaq. A wide, happy grin.
His brows raised. “What?”
“Nothing. Just—” I retracted my blades and leaned in for a kiss. “That.”
His lips clung to mine. “If this is a sneaky plan to distract me, it’s working.”
I grinned and danced back as his arms closed around me. He gave a play-growl and let me go.
I extended the blades again and feinted right, then came in left. The first touch was mine.
The next one, he must have been watching for the shift in weight because he was ready for me, parrying the move. He came back at me in an underhand thrust and touched the tip of his knife to my ribbed tank between my breasts.
The next touch was again mine.
He was still holding back, but I was practical enough to accept that. It felt good to move, but if I didn’t take it easy I was going to end up back in bed.
Zaq got a touch, but I slipped one under his guard a moment later and won the first round. The next round went to him by one point.
He flashed me a grin, and I saluted him with a switchblade, not caring that I’d lost, just enjoying the game.
We returned to the center of the rug. He eyed my flushed face. “One more round, badass. Then you’re going to lie down.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, doctor.”
His smile was pure fallen angel. “On second thought, I believe you need a thorough examination before you undertake any more physical activity. Just to make sure you’re okay.”
I tilted my head and pursed my lips. “I do have a hurt that you need to kiss better.”
He grabbed my hand and marched me down the hall and into his bedroom. “Take off your clothes.” He used his Prince Zaquiel voice, the one that made my lower abdomen all hot and liquid.
I obeyed, taking my time about it. Enjoying how his green eyes darkened.
When I was naked, he curved a hand around my nape and pulled me up against his still-clothed body. He nipped my earlobe. “Tell me where it hurts.”
Electricity spiked from my breasts to my core. “All over,” I said in a husky voice.
“Poor baby. Let me take care of that for you.”
He backed me up to the mattress and guided me to lie down with my feet on the floor. Kneeing apart my legs, he proceeded to kiss me all over with an attention to detail that left me breathless and begging for him to come inside me and finish things already.
Only then did he remove his clothes and take me, him still standing, me on the bed looking up at him. He thrust into me, slow but firm, his face hard with desire.
I tightened my thighs around his lean hips. “More.”
“Ask nicely.” He paused his thrusts and circled his pelvis instead, teasing my opening with the root of his dick.
I pushed the fingers of my right hand into my hair, needing an anchor. I felt taut and flushed and needy. “Damn you, Kral.”
“Beg me. And call me Zaq when I’m inside you.”
He stroked into me again. So slowly sweat beaded his forehead. So slowly I thought I’d die.
It was both excruciating and amazing at the same time.
“Please!” The word burst out of me. “Please give me more.”
“Zaq,” he said.
“Zaq,” I repeated. “Please.”
He rumbled his approval. “That’s it. Now touch yourself.”
I slid my hand between us and fingered my clit. I moaned with pleasure. It felt good—so good—but I needed him, too.
“That’s it.” He started thrusting again. Forceful. Perfect.
I had the fleeting thought that he was completely healed now, his body strong and lithe.
Then a white-hot static filled my head and I stopped thinking of anything but Zaq and how good he was making me feel.
Zaq said my name in a rough voice and thrust a half-dozen more times before stilling and emptying himself into me.
He hung over me, breathing hard, then crawled onto the mattress and pulled me into his arms. I nestled my head the crook of his neck, limp and satiated, my arm around his waist and one leg draped over his thigh, and closed my eyes.
I awoke a few hours later to find him easing himself out from beneath me. “Wheraryougoin’?” I mumbled.
He smoothed a hand down my spine. “It’s three a.m. Xavier will be back soon.”
“’Kay.” I rolled over, stretched.
“How’re you feeling? Any pain?”
“Nope.” I touched my side. “It barely even hurts.”
“Good. I’m going to take a shower. You get some more rest.”
“Wake me up in an hour.”
He nodded and got out of bed. I rolled onto my side and watched him walk to the bathroom. Damn, the man had a fine ass, firm and muscular.
Interest stirred in my belly.
He flashed me a grin over his shoulder. “Hold that thought.”
I furrowed my brow. “You can read my mind?”
He turned back. “No. Just your emotions. Especially when you’re excited or angry or horny. I told you we’re mates.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t at all sleepy. I swallowed a spurt of panic and sat up in the bed.
He turned back. “What?”
“We really are mates?” I honestly hadn’t believed him the first time. Not that I thought he’d lied, he was just…confused.
He nodded, his eyes on my face. His mouth tugged sideways in a whimsical smile. “Would it be so bad?”
My heart hammered in my chest. The panic spread out from my center to my fingers and toes. Fight or flight. I recognized the symptoms, but I could do neither. So I stared at him, mind whirling.
“I figured it was all in my head.”
He crouched in front of the bed and took one of my hands in his. “Talk to me, Ridley. Tell me why you’re scared.”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because you’re a freaking syndicate prince! And even if you weren’t, I’m a rogue slayer. If we get out of this alive, I’m going to have to disappear.”
“Fuck that.” He grabbed my arms. “If you think I’m going to just let you walk away when this is over…”
“You have to. I’ll only bring you down.”
“No way.” His eyes narrowed and his lips firmed. “We’ll figure it out. You’re it for me. I’m not letting you go.”
“Zaq. Be reasonable. Even if we could make this all go away—SI, your father—it would never work. No.” I gave a firm shake of my head. “I won’t accept the bond.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. I could tell I’d hurt him, and that hurt me. But he deserved my honesty.
“Then I’ll just have to change your mind,” he gritted.
“You can’t.”
“No?” He stood up, pulling me with him. His mouth came down on my mine. Hard, demanding.
I pushed at his chest, but it was like fighting myself. With a whimper, I opened to him. His tongue swept into my mouth, telling me without words I was his and he was never letting me go.
Our bodies pressed against each other, fitting together like we were made for each other. I felt myself weakening.
A part of me—my soft, vulnerable underbelly—longed to agree. To believe that love could actually happen to a woman like me. A woman who’d closed herself off to emotion. A woman who lived only to kill.
Zaq sensed me softening. Of course he did.
He eased the kiss. Gave my lips a sweet, hot lick.
His breath sighed out. He rested his forehead against mine, one hand stroking my lower back.
“I love you, Ridley Crawford. I love you because you’re a badass. I love you because you’re a survivor. I love you because you’re not the emotionless killing-machine you think you are, and most of all, I love you because you’re you—complicated as fuck, but that just makes you interesting.”
The words reverberated up and down my spine like he’d twanged a string deep inside me. I was gripped by a yearning so powerful I could barely breathe.
My chin quivered. “You can’t love me.” They were the hardest words I’d ever said. But I knew they were also the right thing to say.
“Yes, I can.”
I opened my mouth and he touched his lips to mine, stopping my words.
“Don’t say anything right now. Just promise me that when this is over, you won’t disappear.”
“Don’t.” I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at his earnest expression. “I can’t promise you anything.”
I can’t love you.
But that was a lie, because I could.
And I did.
My throat worked.
I did love him.
Zaq Kral didn’t just smell right to me, he was right for me—in every way. His compassion, his work ethic, his love for his family. He was a beautiful man, inside and out, and I wanted him with every particle of my being.
His tongue licked at my mouth. “I’m not asking you to promise to stay forever. Not right now. For now, I’m asking for a few days. You can give me that much, can’t you?”
I opened my eyes. He was so close, his gaze intent on me. I felt surrounded by him. His heat, his scent, his hard body.
I swear I intended to say no, but instead what came out of my mouth was, “A day. That’s all.”
His hands moved lower to stroke and squeeze my bottom. “Seven. You can give me a damn week.”
“Two.”
“Make it three.” He nibbled the outer edge of my ear, flicked his tongue inside.
A hot thrill scalded the base of my spine. I pushed him away. “Fine. Three.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah.”
“Say it. When this is over, you promise you’ll give me three days.”
I heaved a breath. “When this is over, I promise I’ll give you three days. But I’m not going to change my mind.”
His mouth curved. “We’ll see.”
Shortly before dawn, Xavier texted Zaq to say he’d be back soon.
His next text said: The hit on you? It has a Paris connection. I’ll explain.
A few minutes later the back door buzzer sounded. Zaq checked the surveillance camera to make sure it was Xavier, then buzzed him in.
Zaq introduced me to Xavier as Tina. We murmured polite hellos and sized each other up.
Zaq’s security chief was a compact, hard-muscled man with a shiny cap of black hair and a broad face that would’ve appeared kind if not for the cynical twist to his lips.
“You’re out of bed. You’re better?” He somehow managed to sound both concerned and to make it clear I’d have to prove myself before he’d roll out the welcome mat.
That was fine with me; I liked that he was protective of Zaq. “Much better, thanks.”
He’d left the back door ajar. When I moved to close it, he looked at Zaq and lifted his shoulders in an apologetic shrug.
“I’m sorry, jefe.”
Zaq’s brows beetled. “What—?”
The air near Xavier wavered and coalesced, and Karoly Kral stepped out of the shadows, lean and dark, his eyes rimmed a fiery blue.
My stomach lurched and dove for the floor like an out-of-control airplane. I fumbled for my borrowed blades and ranged myself beside Zaq.
The Kral primus was slim and only a little above average height, but he dominated the kitchen like he was Keanu Reeves here to kick ass. Dark suit, broad shoulders, and a narrow, sharp-cheeked face with peaked black brows. His gaze flicked to my knives, but he made no move to defend himself.
Zaq reached out a long arm and swept me behind him. He’d pulled a switchblade too, although unlike me, he kept it at his side. “Father.”
The blue fire surrounding Karoly’s irises winked out. “Hello, Zaquiel.”
I leaned around Zaq and took a surreptitious sniff. The primus smelled like a typical vampire—a little earthy, like a forest after a rain. No rotten taint. And he was clearly in control.
Zaq had been correct. His father wasn’t blood mad…unless he was in the very early stages.
Xavier was still apologizing. “He followed me out of the Ruby. Said either I brought him into the loft with me, or he’d come back with a dozen men and break down the door.”
“It’s all right,” Zaq said without taking his gaze from his dad. “I was going to contact him anyway.”
“You couldn’t have stayed in hiding much longer anyway,” Xavier said. “There are all kinds of rumors about you. You would’ve had to show yourself.”
“It’s all right,” Zaq said again. “Go back to the second floor. I’ve got this.”
Xavier glanced uneasily at Karoly. “You sure?”
The primus slitted his eyes at Xavier. “Go.”
Xavier went.
Zaq’s nostrils flared, testing the air like I had earlier.
His father looked taken aback. “You thought I was blood mad?”
I slipped back around Zaq and stood next to him again. I appreciated that he wanted to protect me, but I wasn’t the cower-behind-her-man type.
“That was me,” I said. “I had intel to that effect.”
“Hmm.” Karoly’s cold dark eyes moved over me. “So you’re the famous Reaper. Or should I call you Ridley?”
I lifted my chin. If I was going to die, I’d do it with my head up and my shoulders back. “Reaper’s fine.”
“The slayer who kidnapped my son.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway. “Yes.”
“She’s also the woman who got me out of Moreau’s dungeon,” interjected Zaq.
“Is she?” He turned back to his son. “On the other hand, you wouldn’t have been there if not for her.”
Zaq tightened his grip on his switchblade. He’d recovered from his surprise and donned his stern syndicate-prince face. “She’s mine.”
There he was, claiming me again in no uncertain terms.
And like when he’d said it earlier, my chest compressed, my emotions a tangled coil of yearning and wariness.
“Mm.” Karoly cut another cool look at me.
Zaq moved forward, interposing himself between me and his father again. “Why don’t we sit down?”
He indicated the couch and chairs in front of the unlit fireplace, and we all moved into the living room. “I’ll stand,” I said.
“Ridley.” Zaq looked at me and gave a slight shake of his head.
“Let her stand,” said Karoly.
Zaq sat on a couch and his father took a nearby chair. I stood behind the couch a little to Zaq’s right, deliberately choosing a defensive position, my blades out but at my sides. I wouldn’t attack first, but if Karoly went for Zaq, all bets were off.
Karoly’s small smile acknowledged my body language. “I see you’ve acquired your own personal wolf-dog,” he said to Zaq.
Maybe he meant to be insulting, but I wasn’t insulted.
“Damn straight,” I said under my breath.
Zaq’s mouth twitched but he kept his focus on his father. “I don’t need an attack dog, do I? Unless you’re here to stake me.”
Karoly’s brows lifted. “The way I hear it, you’re here to stake me.”
Oh-kay. Way to bring things out in the open, guys.
But my apprehension eased. It was a good sign that they were both laying it out there, as well as further proof that Karoly wasn’t blood mad. He was too relaxed about the fact that his son might be here to stake him.
A bitter taste filled my mouth. Another thing Crow had lied about.
But no, I couldn’t put this all on her. Shame filled me. It was another thing I’d been blind about, because in my head, a vampire father was no father at all.
Zaq had put his leather wristbands back on. He slid a fingertip beneath the wristband of the hand holding the switchblade, itching the scar.
His father’s eyes flickered. “Moreau?”
Zaq’s jaw hardened. “Silver burns from the cuffs.”
“I saw the photo.”
Zaq bared his fangs and leaned forward. “He’s dead. And I claim the right to be the one who takes him out.”
“Of course.” His father smiled back.
Zaq gave a satisfied nod and sat back.
“So,” said his father. “What is this I hear about a coup and you joining Slayers, Inc. and coming to New York to stake me?”
“It’s a fucking lie, all of it,” said Zaq. “But first—.” He retracted his switchblade and laid it on the coffee table.
I tensed, my gaze darting to the primus. I bent my knees, readying myself to move quickly. If he attacked Zaq, I was going over the couch.
Karoly’s face softened. “Tell me.”
My eyes widened. I straightened, my gaze bouncing between the two men.
The primus loved his son. Zaq had been right about that, too.
“These stories about a coup are a lie. But I did come to New York to stake you, and for that I’m sorry.” Zaq’s jaw worked. “So damn sorry. But it was the only way to get out of that fucking cell.”