Dark Desires After Dusk (9 page)

C
adeon popped the trunk of the most incredible vehicle Holly had ever seen, then hastily stowed their gear inside.

“What kind of car is this?” she asked, threading her arms into his jacket. It swallowed her. Though the bottom would probably hit him at the waist, it almost reached her knees.

“It's called a Veyron. It's my brother's.” He unlocked the doors. “Quick—get in.”

As she took her seat, he sank into his own, having to grasp his leg and drag it inside. At her look, he said, “The curse of the tall man in the small sports car.”

She raised her brows at the plush interior. The dash was a brushed metal. The key looked like a minuscule USB drive.

Holly's dad had been a sports car enthusiast. She'd learned to drive in his Porsche Carrera and Maserati, and on many a Saturday, he'd taken her to auctions and shows. But Holly had never seen a car like this.

Cadeon pushed a button that said
start
and the garage-door opener at the same time. “Buckle up.”

The seat belt was a four-point harness, a racing belt. As she hurriedly buckled it above her lap, he shifted into gear and pulled out.

The driveway from the garage split in two directions.
He veered left, and the cement ended shortly, turning into a tree-covered lane. Slipping from that alley to another backstreet, he said, “I think we've lost them.”

She glanced in the side-view mirror. Nothing but deserted streets. Then she turned to him with a frown. “You're not going to put on a seat belt?”

“Why would an immortal need one?”

“The law says you have to wear it.”

“Human laws don't apply to my kind,” he said.

“They should, especially since you're driving on human roads, operating a vehicle that was built by humans.”

“That you know of. Are you really going to get your panties in a twist about this—oh, forgot you aren't wearing any.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You're not going to distract me.”

“You're not going to get me to wear a seat belt.” At her look, he said, “Imagine the oldest, most stubborn, most cantankerous dog ever to live. He'd learn new tricks better than me.”

Seeing the mulish set to his jaw, she decided to let it rest, for now. “Who was back at the house?”

“Vampires. They're hot on our trail, for some reason. They'll break into the pool house, find it full of smoke, and then lose their heads to Rök's sword.”

“I see. What did he mean about a ‘swimbo'? I probably wouldn't want to be called one, would I?”

“Some demons can get summoned, most often by the opposite sex.
Swimbo
is a play on She Who Must Be Obeyed.”

“But why would he call me one?”

“It's kind of morphed into a sexual term for a female you wouldn't mind being summoned by.”

“Oh.”

“It's a compliment,” he added.

“Of course. Since it's also a play on
bimbo
.”

“Hey, I don't make the words, I just use them.” When the traffic opened up, he was able to put the car through its paces, upshifting for speed. The ride was as smooth as silk

As the engine purred louder, he seemed to go heavy-lidded. “That sound never gets old.”

She hadn't driven a fast car since her dad had died—her own vehicle was a hybrid—and she hadn't ever thought she'd missed it until now. “I've never seen this make.”

“That's because there are only three hundred of them. It's the world's fastest and most expensive car.”

“How fast does it go?” she asked.

“Over two hundred and fifty. Zero to sixty in under two and a half seconds.”

She tried to imagine that. Full acceleration would be like riding a rocket.

“It runs a thousand and one horsepower,” he added.

“Twice as much as a Porsche.”

He looked startled. “How did
you
know that?”

“My dad was a car buff, and I used to go to auctions with him. Don't you think this will be conspicuous for our purposes?”

“We'll take my brother's other car when we meet him.”

“What is he driving?”

“A McLaren,” he answered. “It's a Merce—”

“I know what it is.” She gave a laugh. “Not exactly the optimal choice for vehicle concealment.”

Cadeon slanted her a surprised expression. “I was thinking the same thing.”

*   *   *

The chit knew cars.

Demons loved cars. And Valkyrie. He was doomed.

She chose that moment to uncross and cross her smooth legs, drawing his eyes, reminding him that she wore no panties . . . .

“Cadeon, eyes up!” She tugged on his jacket, but it had ridden up to her midthigh. “Clearly, I can't stay dressed like this.”

“I've told you we can't go back to your loft.”

“Then let me get a friend to meet us,” Holly said. “I need to call her anyway to get her to stand in for my classes.”

“Is she a good friend?”

When Holly nodded, he said, “Those demons knew enough about your teaching schedule to nab you easily. Would it be beyond them to keep a man on your friend's house?”

“But my glasses! She can bring my spare pair. I can't read anything without them.”

Her glasses.
Those small black ones that sat so sexily on her nose. They had the subtlest tilt at the corners, almost like cats' eyes, just enough to call to mind the fifties. The
bombshells
of the fifties.

He missed that decade.

“We'll get you new glasses. And we'll buy you clothes and shoes on the road.”

“And we need to get my medicine refilled.”

“What happens if we don't?”

She balled her hands into fists. “That's
not
an option.”

“Some of these factions might think to check your
pharmacy records. This is a life-or-death situation, Holly.”

“Though I understand very little about tonight, that fact has fully sunk in. But I'm not overstating the importance of those pills.”

“We'll see. That's the best I can promise.”

“Where are we meeting your brother?” she asked, letting the subject drop. He knew she'd come back around to it eventually.

“North of the lake.”

“So we have about thirty minutes. Cadeon, will you kindly explain why I am the most popular girl in town?”

“You're a Valkyrie now, so that makes you a member of the Lore—it's a collection of mythical beings, except we're not mythical. Just about anything you've ever imagined or read about exists in some fashion.”

“Like vampires and Valkyrie.”

He nodded. “And werewolves and sirens and ghouls.”

“What are Valkyrie like?”

Strange, eccentric. Beautiful to a fault.
Holly would fit right in. “They're strong as hell. Fast, too, with good senses.” He couldn't stop himself from saying, “But they're very docile, and happy to do a male's bidding.”

She frowned at that, but before she could ask, he continued, “Now, about every five hundred years, an Accession comes, and—”

“What's an Accession?”

“It's a force that affects Lorekind by pitting species against each other. Some think it began as a mechanism to kill off immortals, or we'd never die, continue spawning, and overrun the earth. So every five centuries, unique things happen. And you're one of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“With each Accession, a Lorekind female called a Vessel reaches sexual maturity. Her firstborn will be the ultimate warrior for either good or evil, depending on the father's inclination.”

“That's why those demons wanted to . . . to . . .”

“Breed with you? Yeah. And the leeches wanted to kill you because they didn't know if the demons had already completed their ritual.”

Her brows drew together. “Wait. I'm called a
Vessel
? Could there be a more derogatory term? By its very definition, a vessel is of no importance compared to its contents. Vessels are disposable. Couldn't these Lorekind have gone with
baby maker
or
bun oven
?”

“I lobbied for
cargo hold,
but just lost out.”

Again, she recrossed her legs. They were toned, taut—all that swimming had done her right. He wondered what she would do if he reached over and put his hand on her knee, sliding it up her thigh. There'd be no panties to get in his way . . . .

As if she knew his musings, she pulled the jacket down with a glare.

Hell, he might have to turn her over to Rydstrom completely.
No.
As soon as the thought arose, Cade swatted it down. Call him a glutton for punishment, but he was going to take every second with her that he could get.

“All kinds of factions, both good and evil, will be searching for you,” he continued, “wanting you either bred or dead. Even some of the good guys will seek to kill you.”

“Why?”

“Because in the last seven Accessions, only one good offspring has been born. The rest are evil.”

“So the odds are that mine would be, too.”

“Exactly. They'd act for the greater good, or to ensure their own dominance.”

“What if I got my tubes tied or something?”

“They'll kill you to make sure.” And it probably wouldn't take anyway. She was too far gone into the transition to Valkyrie. If she had surgery, her body would simply “heal” it.

She was quiet for long moments. “This sounds really dangerous, protecting me. Are you doing it just for the pay?”

I've been protecting you for months. Because you drive me crazy, and I want you more than is right.
“Yeah, just for the pay. I have a history of taking on tough jobs.”

“How much are you getting?”

“Something priceless to my family.”

“More specific, please,” she said in a voice she probably used with unruly jocks.

Second rule of being a mercenary: Lie through your teeth—but stick as close to the truth as possible to keep it convincing and less complicated. “My brother Rydstrom—the one we're meeting—is king of our kind, the rage demons. But his kingdom was usurped by a dark sorcerer called Omort the Deathless. Like the name indicates, he can't be killed in the usual ways.”

“Usual ways?”

“Most immortals can be killed only by an otherworldly fire or by beheading. Omort is immune even to those means. As you can imagine, he's hard as hell to defeat. But now, if I do this job with you, I'll get a sword that was forged specifically to kill him.”

“A dark sorcerer.” She pinched her forehead. “It just keeps getting better. I wonder that he doesn't want ‘the Vessel' for himself, since everyone else seems to.”

That supposition was a little close for comfort. A wicked sorcerer
did
want her, just not the one she was aware of. So Cade told her the truth: “Omort won't seek you. He can't breed with a Vessel. Because he was born of one.”

But his half brother Groot hadn't been.

“So if Rydstrom is a king, then you're a prince?”

“Of a lost crown.”

“Is he the one who dragged you away that day on campus?”

“You remember that?” On the one occasion he'd had to speak to her, for the first time in his life, he'd been off his game. Unfortunately, Rydstrom had been there to see it. “That's him. He's the good brother of the Woede. I'm the bad one. You'll see it as soon as we're together.”

“What's the Woede?”

“That's what they call the two of us because we rarely separate.” No matter how much they might want to.

“What was wrong with you that day?” she asked. “Why couldn't you talk?”

“Couldn't talk? It wasn't like that.”

“You were babbling incoherently.”

Funny, Rydstrom had described it as
blathering
. “I
never
babble.”

“Why were you on campus anyway? Were you already watching me about this?”

“No, it was a coincidence.” He exhaled.
A fated one . . .

*   *   *

At the mention of Cade's brother, she noted the instantaneous change in him.

Clearly, he had issues with this Rydstrom.

She remembered the brother from that day of the awards. He'd seemed more reasonable. Maybe he'd be more
inclined to answer her questions with direct, comprehensive answers. Every time Cadeon explained something, she got the sense that he was just treading the surface of the subject.

And yet again, Cadeon's gaze strayed to her bare legs. She hated this vulnerable feeling, going with no underwear, no hose, no bra.

Everything she'd ever learned about concealing her emotions she used now. She reached for her pearls to calm herself, but they weren't there. Nothing was as it should be, and she wanted to hit something in frustration.

This night was all wrong. A nightmare for someone like her. She didn't need a male like Cadeon casting her lustful glances—not now and certainly not when she'd been naked earlier.

Most times she endeavored to forget she had a body at all, much less one that could be sexy. Or could
feel
sexy.

No man had ever seen her completely naked before tonight. Now thirteen demons had.

But only one had lived to tell about it.

Oh, God, this is too much, too much to take in.

“All right, poppet, you've got to stop that leg-crossing thing, stat.”

“I'm uncomfortable!” She'd never gone so long without undergarments. “I don't have my clothes, my jewelry. My laptop. Not even my shoes!”

“And now you've got me uncomfortable, too.”

She could have sworn he'd
adjusted
himself. “You . . . you just touched yourself.”