There was more muttering about incubi as she dropped the cloth into the laundry basket. “I was born the day Julius Caesar died. That’s very old.”
“So you really were born. And on the Ides of March,” he mused. “Is that what you’re named after?” When she nodded, he settled back and gave her a sleepy, seductive look. “It’s a pretty name. Pretty, like you.”
She snorted, totally calling him out. “I’m not going to fall for any of your tricks. Especially not when they’re so obvious.”
“Give me a break. I don’t have a lot of experience seducing women.”
“Yeah, right.” She frowned when he didn’t react. “You’re serious. How can you be an incubus and not have that kind of experience?”
He shrugged, unwilling to tell her about his death touch. “Guess there are anomalies in every species.”
“Seeing how you’re a sex demon who kills, I’d say that’s true.”
“There are incubi that use sex to kill. But it’s not like I want to kill anyone,” he added, and though it was true that he was playing up to her soft side, it was also just… true. He wasn’t a killer because he wanted to be.
No, you kill for money. That’s so much better.
“Good,” she said. “Then I need you to not kill Kynan.”
“Yeah, okay. I won’t.”
Her eyelashes swept down, creating shadows under her eyes, and she suddenly looked tired. “I know how assassin masters work, Lore. You can’t just ignore your orders.”
“Then why are you asking me to not kill Kynan if you know I have to?”
“I just want your word that you won’t kill him while I’m trying to find out who hired you, and why.”
“So you think that if you take out whoever hired me, the hit will be called off and Kynan will be safe?”
“Yes.”
It was a nice thought, but it wasn’t going to happen. The Assassins’ Guild had built its rep on its vow of discretion and silence, and no one learned the identity of any party who had hired an assassin. It had happened only once, several hundred years ago, when a client had been betrayed by an assassin master, and that master had been made an example of.
His wrecked body, preserved in wax, graced the entrance to the Guild Hall, his flesh peeled like a banana away from the bone. But the worst part was that somehow his soul had been trapped with the body, and his screams could be heard by every demon who entered.
But he wasn’t going to tell Idess that. Nope. He’d play along.
“You’ll need my help,” he said.
She swiped at her brow, which glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. “I can manage on my own.”
“Really? You know who my master is? You can contact him?”
Pink mottled Idess’s cheeks, because he had her there. “Will you tell me?”
“Will you let me go?”
She wobbled on her feet, and a lightning strike of panic zinged through him. “Cookie? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She lifted her chin and straightened her back in a show of strength, but a trickle of perspiration ran down her temple.
“You want my help? You tell me what the f**k is wrong. Right. Now.”
She hesitated, and he got that. Vulnerability was not easy, especially in front of an enemy. A whimper escaped her as she sagged, catching herself on the dresser.
“Idess? What is it?”
Her jerky gaze tracked to his, a little glassy and a whole lot desperate. “It seems,” she whispered, “that I need to feed.”
Seven
I need to feed.
Had she really said that? The words were still ringing in Idess’s ears as an undying echo. It grew louder and louder, until she slapped her palms over her ears. She heard Lore calling her name, his deep voice a mere buzz.
Calm down… calm down…
Oh, this was bad. Her utter hatred of feeding had led her to ignore her body’s needs for too long, and the battle with Lore and subsequent injury hadn’t helped anything. As the nausea waned, she tentatively peeled her hands away from her head.
“Idess.” Lore’s hard tone finally penetrated the haze in her brain. “When you say feed, do you mean what I think you mean?”
“Yes.” She sank down on the bed next to him, her legs too wobbly to support her for much longer, and the last thing she wanted was to do a face-plant right in front of her captive. That would certainly go a long way toward showing him who was in charge.
“But aren’t you some sort of angel?”
“Consider me an angel in training.” She rubbed her eyes even as she swiped her tongue over the tip of a canine that had started to descend.
“Do all angels drink blood?”
She was so tired she no longer cared about keeping things from Lore. So exhausted, in fact, that she swayed, her head spinning as if she’d had one too many glasses of wine—which was the only alcohol Memitim were supposed to drink. She’d indulged a lot during her wilder days. Now she avoided it—and anything that might chip away at her control and lead her away from the path of goodness she tried so hard to follow. “No. Only my kind.”
“And what kind are you, exactly?”
“I’m Memitim.” She skimmed her hand over the hand-made royal blue and gold comforter she’d bought in the Italian countryside. Small things like this would be what she missed when she Ascended. “Unlike Cherubim and Thrones and all the other classes of angels you may have heard about, Memitim are born on Earth and we remain here until we Ascend. And because we’re tied to the earth and this plane, we must feed if we’ve depleted our energy.” Or maybe what Rami said was true; that they fed not because they were bound to this life, but because of who their father was and that Memitim were, in essence, paying for his sins. The sins of the father they all shared, as it were.
“Why are you depleted?”
“Fighting with you, for one,” she said wryly. “Being shot and losing the Primori your mate killed took a lot out of me, too.”
He was silent for a long time, leaving her alone with the throbbing in her head. “Feed from me.”
Her gaze flew up to meet his. “Ah… excuse me?”
“Take my blood.”
Already her teeth were pulsing inside her gums, eager to extend. “Why are you offering?”
“Because you look like you’re going to keel over at any second. And if you starve to death, I’m never getting out of these chains.”
Her belly was practically twisting in anticipation, her mouth was watering, and her fangs punched down. Lore noticed, his gaze going to her parted lips, and she swore she saw a flicker of hunger in his eyes, as well. She squirmed, unsure about this. She’d never taken from a demon before. In fact, she’d always sought out the gentlest, most decent human Primori she could.
When their emotions remained with you, you didn’t want a psychopath’s blood thrumming through your veins.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’ll find someone else—”
“Take it,” he said, and this time his voice was rough. Commanding. “Take whatever you need.” His eyes dropped, and she followed his gaze to his erection. “Take whatever you want.”
“Arrogant bastard,” she muttered, but there was no power behind the words. She wanted his blood, and truth be told, her treasonous body ached for everything he was so boldly offering.
She had to get out of there.
She flashed. Tried to flash. Her body flickered like a dying lightbulb. Oh, sweet Lord, she was stuck. If Kynan were to be attacked right now…
She had to do it. She had to take from Lore, if only to ensure Kynan’s safety. But the thought of drinking from him, of taking lifeblood from his powerful body… it was dangerous. What kind of emotions would stay with her if she drank from an incubus? Already, the very idea had her warming up all over, her thighs clenching and wetness blooming between her legs.
He tilted his head to the side. His muscular neck was exposed, his jugular pulsing strong and steady beneath tan skin.
Just a small taste. A sip. Enough to give her the strength to hunt down a proper host. Decision made, she mounted him, straddling his thighs. She scooted backward in an attempt to avoid intimate contact, but his wicked grin said he wasn’t going to play that way. He lifted his knees to shift her forward, and she nearly gasped at the feel of the hard ridge of his sex against hers.
Damn him. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, so she braced her hands on his shoulders and leaned in. His scent, earthy and bold, ignited a pleasurable hum inside her. Oh, how she needed this.
“It won’t hurt,” she whispered against his skin.
“Not worried about that,” he whispered back.
She told herself that touching him was necessary, that it meant nothing, told herself all kinds of lies as she dragged her tongue up his neck, right along the jugular. His body went taut beneath her, but with anticipation or dread, she didn’t know. She licked again, taking her time, even though she didn’t need to; her first stroke numbed the bite site. No, this second taste was for her, not him, and there was no lying about that.
“I’m starting to feel like a Tootsie Pop, here,” he rasped.
She couldn’t contain a smile. “Yes… how did that old commercial go?” She licked him. “One.” She licked him again, and he moaned. “Two.” She licked him once more, and his h*ps came off the bed.
“Three.”
* * *
Idess’s fangs slid into Lore’s throat so smoothly he felt only the slightest tingle, and then her mouth latched on.
Oh… yeah.
No one had ever bitten him before, but wow, this was amazing. He still wasn’t sure why he’d offered to play juice box, but he definitely didn’t regret it. Warmth flowed from her mouth through his body, loosening his muscles and his mind. He drifted in a happy place as she sucked on his neck, her tongue and lips caressing his skin so gently he almost asked her to suck harder, to give him even more to feel.