The darkest seduction - Showalter Gena - Страница 50

“Good. Now listen up, and listen well.” His gaze drilled into hers. “I’ve done a lot of research about the living dead. If anyone threatens you, that means the person can see you. And if he can see you, he and his weapons will be solid to you. I won’t remind you about the men out there, how they saw you and would have been able to touch you. If they can touch you, that means you can touch them. So you need to act first, and think about it later. That means you shoot the culprits without hesitation. Got it?”

“Y-yes.”

“All right, then. Moving on.” Next he withdrew a crystal blade. He stretched out his free hand and motioned her closer.

One step, two, until she was at his knee. Apparently, though, that wasn’t good enough. He latched on to her hip and dragged her between the deep vee of his legs. Though he wasn’t in a sexual mood, the touch excited her all over again.

He forced her to curl her fingers around the hilt, those ocean-blues grave. “If someone gets in your grille, they deserve what they get. Go for vitals, where they’re soft and you don’t have to worry about cutting through bone. Like here.” He moved her hand to his side, laying the blade flat a few inches above his hip. “And here.” He moved her hand to the ropes of his stomach.

Touching him there reminded her of just how hungry she was, and not just for his body, causing her own stomach to growl. Her cheeks heated all over again. Was she cursed to always embarrass herself in front of this man?

His beautiful lips curled into the semblance of a smile. “Still haven’t eaten, huh?”

Though a mere shadow of what it could be, that half smile lit up his entire face, dialing “beautiful” to “exquisite.” She, too, lit up, her nerve endings pulsating. Gulping back her always increasing desire, she nodded. “I’m starving.”

A moment passed. He cursed. “This goes against what few morals I have left.” Frowning, he released her to dig around in his pockets. He withdrew a plastic baggie filled with dark purple powder.

“What does?” Holding her? Giving her weapons? Now that she was aware of her hunger, the pains started up, her blood heating to the point of boiling, her skin shrinking over her bones.

Don’t think about it, and you’ll be fine.

He set the baggie aside, stared at it for several minutes, and released a ragged breath.

Wanting to give him time to come to grips with whatever was bothering him, she studied the knife he’d given her. The crystal blade was jagged, rainbow shards trapped under the clear exterior. The handle was a dull copper, solid, and warm with his body heat.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said.

“And you never will again. There are only two in the world, and I’ve got the other one. That baby will kill anything, even a god of this world, and do whatever you command, as long as it’s in your hand. Like, if you need to hide it, grip it and think invisible.”

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “I can’t accept this. The two are obviously a matched set and—”

“Don’t argue with me.” His tone was hard, uncompromising. He withdrew a small flask from his other pocket, picked up the plastic baggie and dumped half of its contents inside.

She’d told him where she was going when they parted, and who she would be with. He had clearly forgotten, or he would be insisting she give the crystal back and pretend she’d never seen it.

“Paris, listen to me. I’m going after the leader of the Hunters. Do you understand what I’m telling you? You can’t risk something like this falling into enemy—”

“Don’t. Don’t say another word right now. I’ve decided you’re not going near that psycho, and that’s that, so just take the knife and say thank you.” He swirled the liquid in the flask before lifting the small round rim to her lips. “Now drink.”

“ You’vedecided? You can’t—”

“Drink.”

She had no choice but to obey; he’d already begun pouring the contents down her throat. And sweet heaven, she loved the taste. A diluted version of what Cronus gave her, but delicious all the same. She gulped back one mouthful, then another and another, the warmth sliding into her, dancing through her, easing her pain faster than a blink.

“Enough.” He removed the flask before she could start licking at any stray droplets.

She moaned her disappointment, then closed her eyes for a moment and savored. Her skin plumped back up, and wow, she could have floated away on a cloud of bliss, forever lost.

“What is that stuff, anyway?” Cronus had never told her.

“Ambrosia.”

Huh. A substance consumed by the immortals, she recalled reading, used for pleasure and the reaffirmation of power. As she now knew, myths often misled, straight-up lied or barely touched upon the truth. “Why do I—”

“Nope. No questions about this particular subject right now.” He hooked the flask to one of her belt loops and tucked the baggie carefully in her pocket. “When you feel yourself going into withdra—I mean, when you feel yourself getting weak, take a few swigs. You’ll perk right up.”

“Clearly.”

He met her gaze, the blue of his eyes frosting over in seconds, turning the ocean into a river of glass. “You said you could go a week with what Cronus brought you, right?”

So. She couldn’t question him, but he could question her? She could have refused to answer, or demanded they trade answers. She didn’t. “Yes.” The change in him upset her, and she wouldn’t add to his obvious stress.

“What you just drank should last a few days.” He gripped her forearms and shook her. “I need you to listen to my next words. If you retain nothing else I say, retain this.”

“Okay,” she repeated, tensing as his anxiety bled into her.

“Never, under any circumstances, are you to allow someone to taste your blood. Do you understand? They do, and you are to kill them before they can escape you.”

“Who would want to taste my blood?” Humans? Impossible. They couldn’t see her or even sense her. Vampires? Maybe. The nocturnal creatures existed, but they wanted everyone’sblood. Why target a ghost of a woman?

A muscle ticked in Paris’s jaw, a sign of his growing anger. “You’d be surprised. Now promise me. Promise me you’ll kill anyone who does.”

“I promise.” Her hands fluttered to his shoulders, an offering of comfort. He was trying to tell her something without freaking her out. She knew it, sensed it. Trying to protect her, even though they were destined to part.

He released her to shove his hair off his brow. There were dark smudges on his fingers, she saw. Wanting to help him, even in so small a way, she took one of his hands and rubbed at the inklike spots. They remained. She frowned.

“They won’t come off. They’re tattoos,” he explained, no inflection in his voice. He’d gone very still, had even stopped breathing at her first touch.

Why would he tattoo smudges on his fingertips? Her eyes met his, a tangle of confusion and an ever-present desire. She ignored the first and concentrated on the latter, lifting the tip of his finger to her mouth and sucking.

His pupils did their pulsing thing, stretching, snapping back into place, stretching again. The scent of dark chocolate and expensive champagne drifted from him, enveloping her, fogging her thoughts, electrifying her already sensitized nerves. She bit his pad lightly, and a hoarse groan left him.

“Do you have any children?” she asked, then had to fight a wave of sadness. I can’t. Never again.To distract herself, she sucked his finger deeper than before, swirling her tongue at the root and sliding the appendage out with a pop.

The sudden topic switch didn’t faze him. “No. I always know when a woman is…I mean, Sex knows, and he wants her that much more, but impregnating a stranger is one of two things I’ve never let him force me to do.”

Her head tilted to the side. “What’s the other?”