Back From Hell (7 page)

“Look,” he snapped. “I’m ninety-eight years old and I’ve been doing this job for longer than you’ve been alive, Goldilocks. I know what I’m talking about. Do it
now
, or you will lose her.”

She just gazed at him, mistrust in her silver eyes.

Ronan cupped her cheek in his hand. “Come on, Jenai…you can trust me. In your heart, you know that.”

Her shoulders rose and fell on a deep sigh as she turned and stared at Stephanie. She whispered quietly, “I hope I don’t prove myself a fool by trusting you.”

That stung. But he didn’t let it show on his face as he went to kneel by the bed, on level with Steph’s head. Through his peripheral vision, he could see Jenai sinking her teeth into her wrist, piercing a vein there, and the sharp, spicy scent of a female vampire’s blood filled the room. Vampire, and something else. Something sweet, something warm and ripe.

She hesitated though, and he reached out, seized her wrist and drew it to Steph’s mouth. The younger woman was unconscious though. Her mouth was slack, graying around the edges, and the blood trickled out of the corner before Ronan reached out and rubbed gently on her throat until she swallowed reflexively.

A few minutes passed as Ronan kept his attention split between the shape-shifter on the bed and the vampire who fed her. “That’s enough,” he murmured. “Will have to do. Any more and you’ll be weakened.”

As her eyes lifted slowly to his, he saw the rush of fatigue and he hoped he had stopped her soon enough. Her eyes dropped to her sister’s face and Ronan looked down as well. “She looks a little better…doesn’t she?” Jenai asked quietly, her voice soft and uncertain.

“Yes.” He jerked his head in the direction of the bed. “Go lie down. We’ll take care of getting you fed in a little while.”

“What if they come for us?” she asked.

“I’ll know,” he murmured, rising and moving around until he could urge her onto the bed. “Come on. Lie down…that’s a good girl.”

She stared up at him, her eyes looking vulnerable and scared. A need inside him rose, a need to protect her, to promise her that nothing would ever hurt her again. But he couldn’t promise that—not with the lifestyles they’d chosen to live.

When her hand lifted to him, Ronan couldn’t believe the sense of relief that raced through him. Stretching out on the bed beside her, he drew the long, slender lines of her body against his. Jenai pillowed her cheek on his chest and her hand came up to rest just above his heartbeat.

“Go to sleep, Jenai.” Pressing his lips to her crown, he said, “Nothing will happen tonight. We’re safe right now, and Stephanie will be fine.”

She fell asleep almost as though she had just been waiting for somebody to tell her it was okay. Ronan waited until he knew she would stay asleep and then he slid away from her.

His body ached just from that innocent contact, holding her while she fell asleep. Staying too close to her was torture. And he couldn’t trust himself. Exhaustion blurred his mind as well and he couldn’t let himself relax. Shifting into a sitting position, he braced his hands on the edge of the mattress, staring down at the stained beige carpet under his feet for a moment as he tried to settle his thoughts.

It didn’t completely work, but at least he was able to focus on something other than Jenai, so close to him at last.

Rising, he grabbed the extra blanket from the closet and tucked it around Stephanie, touched his fingers to her neck, reassured by the strong, steady beat of her heart. With a sigh, he paced to the window, staring out into the darkness and brooding.

Think, Ronan
, he told himself, crossing his arms over his chest.

The sisters weren’t any threat to the PSA. And the agency generally only eliminated threats. Even if they couldn’t recruit vigilante monster fighters like the King sisters, they just went on.

They weren’t any threat—they didn’t know anything that could cause concern. And Ronan had focused too much on getting to Jenai’s side to look beyond doing anything but that.

He couldn’t have focused on anything else. The way the agency operated, if one agent failed at a task, or even hesitated, another was sent in, and another, and another, until the job was done.

If he had slowed for even a minute, how did he know Brunich wouldn’t send another in to do the job?

No, he hadn’t been able to take that chance.

But hindsight was so much clearer. The sisters hadn’t been in danger until he had approached them—exactly as he had been ordered to.

They weren’t a threat, but maybe, somehow, he was.

* * * * *

By sunrise, he had come to the conclusion that Brunich had set him up to be killed, but not because of anything to do with the sisters.

But because of him. For a few months, he had been investigating a series of unusual paranormal deaths. Ronan had been selected for the task by the governing authority of the PSA. He had some select skills that made him better at it than most. The child of a werewolf and a human female, he had many of the abilities that a werewolf had, the long life, the ability to scent blood and death, some of the hungers…

He couldn’t shape-shift, but he didn’t see that as a bad thing. It kept his aura very low key and he could blend almost as well as a mortal.

Ronan was an anomaly, though. His mother had been a witch. The result—a psychic child. And his trademark skill was the ability to scent violent death. He could feel it. It called to him—just like the voices of the lost whispered to him.

These deaths had been unnatural. Bodies drained, empty. Not the stillness of death, but
empty
, as though something had stolen the soul and then killed the body. His investigation was leading him in a disturbing direction, more and more pointing to a person trusted by the paranormal community.

He sure as hell hadn’t suspected it would be somebody so close to him. He hadn’t ever liked Brunich. But he had trusted him. That foolish trust had damn near killed them all last night.

Ronan had spent the night talking with the handful of people he trusted absolutely. Brunich had been questioning people, very subtly, about Ronan’s investigation.

Though he had no proof, he now had suspicion, and that was most likely why Brunich had wanted him dead. Suspicion, in their line, was enough for an investigation on Brunich. His boss must have figured out that sooner or later, Ronan was going to start looking in places Brunich would rather he not look.

When the investigation had stalled, all killings suddenly stopping, Brunich had requested that his top investigator check out two vigilante
autre
. Not an unusual request. The PSA was known for recruiting such people.

Ronan had known the minute he’d seen the two sisters that they wouldn’t join any team. Brunich would have known it as well. He wouldn’t have sent Ronan out without thoroughly checking them out himself. And Ronan had been a damn fool for walking blindly into the fray.

Hindsight could be such a bitch.

Conner and Katie, a husband and wife team, were the first people he had contacted. And they had told him,
Stay away. Something odd is going on
.

So he’d stay away. For now. And watch. Information was the greatest of weapons.

With a tired sigh, he turned back to study the shape-shifter as she tossed restlessly on the bed.

Her skin was pale, and her face looked oddly gaunt.

She needed to wake, and soon.

And then they had to get some food inside her before she totally drained her body of energy.

It was early, not quite dawn yet, and his mind was foggy with fatigue. Sleep. Rubbing a hand over his gritty eyes, he muttered, “Got to get some sleep.”

Taking a chair, he turned it around, bracing the back of it against the door. It was unlikely that anybody would find them here—the car Jenai and Stephanie had stashed had been one he hadn’t been aware of. And it was unlikely anybody else was aware of it either. Since it wasn’t likely they could be tracked, and Ronan knew nobody had followed them, he should be okay to get some sleep.

If a threat came close, he knew either he, Jenai, or both of them would feel it in time to do something. Hopefully, though, that wouldn’t happen.

Because Stephanie was in bad shape, and the two of them were exhausted.

Casting a hungry look at Jenai’s long, slender body curled under a thin blanket, he lowered himself onto the chair, crossed his arms over his chest and, for the first time in two days, allowed himself to rest.

* * * * *

Jenai slid from the bed just after dawn, rubbing her eyes, feeling too tired and sluggish.

Probably came from feeding Steph. She was more used to taking blood on the spur of the moment, not opening a vein to give it.

Hunger was an ache in her belly. She needed to hunt, to feed, but she couldn’t leave Steph alone.

Stretching her arms over her head, she arched her back and yawned, trying to wake up.

There was a soft, sighing breath and in that instant, she realized—she wasn’t alone. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned slowly and saw Ronan. Holy hell. After five years of dreaming about him, actually seeing him, having him close enough for her to smell the scent of his skin, hear his heartbeat, was damn near intoxicating.

Licking her lips, she watched his eyes move up from her ankles, slide over her legs, her hips, up her torso, lingering on her breasts for a long second. Her nipples tightened and puckered under that look and then his eyes continued up, studying her mouth for a long second, and then he met her eyes.

She swallowed as the air in the room suddenly seemed too heavy, too hot, full of ripe need and rising lust.

“You look like an angel while you sleep.”

Her cheeks flushed and something inside her heart shifted—an odd, soft feeling—at his words. The thought of him watching her sleep did something to her too, but she couldn’t quite define it.

Something hot and sweet, like cotton candy in the summer. At that fanciful thought, she scowled, unaware of the blush that stained her cheeks.

Lowering her lashes, she said softly, “I’m no angel.”

Ronan smiled, moving toward her, his eyes gleaming brightly in the dim light of the hotel room. “Hmmm. Maybe not. An angel probably wouldn’t make me feel the way you do, the way you’ve always made me feel. Wouldn’t make me want what you make me want.”

The last words were breathed against her mouth as he reached out, closing his hands around her arms and drawing her closer. She was close enough to feel the heat of his body, like a whispered promise, but they weren’t actually touching—not yet. Just his hands on her arms, and then his mouth on hers as his lips came down and closed over hers, his tongue pushed inside.

Oh, hell.

He tasted even better than he smelled.

As he stroked his tongue across hers, he slid his hands down her arms, then around her waist to pull her closer still. Jenai whimpered as her breasts flattened against the hot, hard wall of his chest and his hands skimmed down her hips, bringing her pelvis tight against his, so that she could feel the heat and length of his cock pressing against the mound of her sex.

“Bloody hell, I can’t believe I’m finally touching you,” he growled against her lips.

Jenai’s head fell limply back as he tore his mouth away from hers and started to kiss his way down her neck. She gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders as he scraped his teeth across her neck.

His hands were busy on her shirt, tugging it up until it was caught under her arms. The only thing that separated his hands from her flesh was the bikini top she still hadn’t taken off, and it fell away easily under his hands.

Her head spun as he hooked his arms under hers, using his hands on her shoulders to arch her back, lifting her breasts up for him. Off balance, her head falling back, Jenai couldn’t even breathe as he took one diamond-hard tip in his mouth, sucking it deep.

Her breath wheezed out of her in a rush as he worked her nipple with his mouth.
Damn it…I’ve never been that sensitive there.
She hovered perilously close to climax, and all he had done was kiss her and touch her breasts.

Then he worked one muscled thigh between hers, pressing the hard length upward until she was riding his leg.

As the mound of her sex came in contact with his leg, he lifted her, balancing her weight until she was straddling his leg and her feet came off the floor. Helplessly, she started to rock against him and in a rush, she climaxed.

“That’s it,” he muttered as he pulled away from her breast. His mouth came back to hers, slanting against her lips as he plunged his tongue deep inside.

They were moving—wrapping her legs around his waist, she clung to him as he carried her away from the bed, away from Stephanie.

She moaned when he stopped kissing her, lifting his head away and looking around the room. Jenai didn’t know what he was looking for—didn’t really care, she just wanted him touching her, kissing her again.

“I can’t wait to have you, Jenai,” he muttered. She heard hinges squeak and then a short, choked laugh. “A fucking closet—good enough. Damn bathroom’s too far away.”

The door closed behind them, closing them in almost total darkness. A thin gray line of light seeped under the door, but it was too dark inside the room for much light to penetrate through that thin slit.

She wanted to see him—was desperate to see him. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could just barely make out the shape of his face, the dark shadow of his shoulders as he lowered her to the floor—but not enough.

“Next time,” he whispered as he stripped her pants away. As though he was reading her mind, he whispered, “Next time, light…candlelight, a soft bed. Silk and roses…but I have to have you, Jenai. You hid from me for too long.”

She was naked from the waist down when he lifted her again, and he’d shoved his jeans down as well. She could feel the hot press of his cock against her, smell the heated ripe scent of hungry, aroused male.

Her refined senses almost made up for the fact that she could hardly see him. But not quite.