Leopard's Kiss (Shadow Guardians) (Shadows Guardians Book 1) (16 page)

He caught her mouth in a fierce, uncontained kiss that swept through him like a forest burning out of control. She locked her arms around his neck, kissing him back so fiercely that he knew he had no chance of holding back. She'd stripped him of his control and discipline, leaving him completely at the mercy of his emotions and his instincts.

She locked her legs around his hips, inviting him in. He sheathed himself inside her, a seamless connection that shook him deeply. He moved inside her, his senses howling at the feel of her body clamped around him. He gripped her hair, unable to break the kiss, devouring her mouth at the same time he bound them with each thrust. The sensations were overwhelming, twisting around him like invisible chains that would never release him, chains he never wanted to escape from.

He thrust deeper and harder, until the world became nothing more than Anya. He clung to her, his soul howling in response to the heat she'd awoken in him, driving deeper and deeper with his hips, at the same time their kisses careened out of control. He was so connected with her that he knew the moment the orgasm took hold of her, dragging her ruthlessly into a place where sensation and explosion would consume her. He went with her, turning himself over to her and the connection that bound them. The climax rocked him violently, wresting every last bit of self-discipline from him, thrusting him into a miasma of flashing lights and intoxicating connection where only he and Anya existed.

S
he wanted
to pretend there was nothing outside the shield of his arms.

Anya closed her eyes, listening to the steady thump of Slade's heart beneath her cheek. Her body was sated, but not drained. His arms were tight around her, his fingers drifting through her hair.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice cautious.

Her heart softened at his concern, and she rolled on top of him, propping her elbows up on his chest. "I'm fine."

He searched her face, his gaze intense as he inspected her. Then, finally, a small smile curved the corner of his mouth. "You're okay."

She grinned. "I am. I knew you could kiss me without hurting me."

He tugged lightly at her hair, his face more relaxed than she'd ever seen. He looked much younger, making her wonder exactly how old he was. Had the hard years he'd lived stolen part of his youth? "It's never been like that," he said. "It was...surreal."

The reverence in his voice made her throat tighten. "I agree." She loved being sprawled across him. His body was hard and warm, making her feel safe and sexy at the same time.

He was watching her hair fall from his fingers, tumbling over her shoulders. The awe on his face made her feel like some supernova who'd illuminated his world. It had been so long since she'd been truly relaxed. It felt like an eternity since anyone had looked at her like she really mattered. She knew that they had to keep searching for Julia, that this moment was nothing more than a brief oasis in an ugly, terrifying hunt for her best friend, but she needed this moment. Simply being there with him was healing some of the pain that had haunted her for so long, breathing new life and energy into her.

He frowned as he played with her hair. "As I said before, I never thought about the word soft before," he said. "But your hair makes me contemplate the concept."

"I'm getting that impression." She smiled as she watched him. He looked like a little boy experiencing the world for the first time. "Soft isn't a bad thing," she said.

"I always thought it was." He lifted another lock of hair and let it fall to her shoulder. "To me, soft means weak. It meant you were going to get killed, or get someone you cared about killed." He tangled his fingers in her hair and tugged lightly. "But this soft makes me want to pause and experience it." His gaze flicked to hers. "I'm not used to that."

His wariness made her smile. "It's not so bad, is it?"

He shrugged. "It might be." He let out his breath and looked at her. "These people who have Julia are dangerous."

Her contentment faded. "I know."

"You don't have any idea." He clasped his hands behind his head, his gaze still fixed on her. The position made his biceps flex, reminding her of the pure deadliness of the man she was with. "My father was a mercenary. His main gig was to find missing people. My mom was one of his assignments, and he fell in love with her instantly. Through her, he learned about the shifter black market, and it became his personal agenda to shut it down. He turned his specialization to finding missing shifters."

Anya tensed, picking up on the edge to his voice. "What happened?"

"He became too good. People were losing money. They threatened him, tortured him, and blackmailed him, but he didn't stop." He met her eyes. "So, they hunted down his family and killed them. My bro—" He stopped suddenly.

She knew then what he hadn't told her. She knew who he'd been protecting all this time. "You have a brother?"

He swore under his breath and closed his eyes.

She touched his jaw. "Slade," she whispered. "These people are my enemy, too. I'm on your side."

He opened his eyes. "If you know, they can get the information from you."

"Then erase it. Tell me, then erase it." She knew it was the only way he'd share it, but she wanted to know his secrets. There was something about this tormented, isolated man that called to her. He'd been cast adrift when his father had died, fighting to survive, thrashing blindly through a life of death and destruction. Somehow, she wanted to reach him and help him find his way back to what mattered.

His gaze flicked to hers and she saw an incredible yearning in them, so achingly honest that she wanted to cry.

"He doesn't know me," he finally said. "He was only six months old when my mom was killed, and a year old when my dad died. I took him to a church with a note. I knew what life I was going to lead, and I didn't want him to be stuck in the same cycle that had killed everyone."

Her heart tightened. "What did the note say?"

"I wrote that his dad had been killed in the military as a war hero, and his mother was a school teacher who had died in a car accident, and that he had no family to take care of him, so I hoped that a good family would adopt him." He glanced at her. "I lied about who he was so he could have a life that had nothing to do with the one he was born into. I tried to make up a story that would make someone want him." He managed a half-smile. "He was adopted by a great couple. He's even got a brother. They're close. Him, his brother, his parents. They're tight. He's got it all."

Her heart ached for the words he didn't say. "He doesn't know about you, does he?"

Slade shook his head. "I visit him occasionally to check up on him, but he doesn't know I'm there. I talked to him three times, but I erased his mind after. I just had to..." He shrugged, focused on her hair as he continued to play with it, not quite looking at her. "I had to hear the sound of his voice. I had to hear him say my name, like he knew me."

Tears filled Anya's eyes. She couldn't imagine what her life would have been like without her little makeshift family. How could Slade have severed himself from the one person on the earth he loved, just to keep him safe? She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're the most selfless man I've ever met," she said softly. "My mom loved me dearly, but even she didn't let me go to keep me safe. I can't imagine the strength it takes for you to walk away every time."

His arm tightened around her. "It's fine," he said, but the edge to his voice made his words a lie. "It's not a big deal."

"What's his name?" she asked.

"His birth name is Killian Cross. In the note, though, I said his name was Ned."

She raised her brows. "Ned?"

"I wanted a name that would turn him into a geek who sat at a computer all day instead of one that made him want to be a warrior."

"And did it?"

Slade laughed softly. "He's a heart surgeon, but he's also a tenth degree black belt in karate, the fool."

There was so much pride in his voice that Anya couldn't help but smile. "Have you watched any of his competitions?"

His face darkened. "No. I only see him at night when no one is around." His gaze became like steel. "If anyone saw me speaking with him, they would want to know who he was. I can never acknowledge him. Ever."

She nodded, her heart breaking for him. "I understand." She knew why he had to do it, and she acknowledged that it made his brother safer, but the loss of the two brothers living alone, disconnected from their own family made her heart ache for them, and for herself. She was like Slade now, living in isolation, torn from her family. Was it worse, knowing what they'd lost? Or was it worse for Ned, not even knowing his brother existed?

Slade met her gaze. "I need to wipe Killian from your mind." The regret in his eyes made her heart turn over, and she knew that by telling her about him, he'd been able to bring Killian to life for the first time since the day he'd turned him away so long ago.

"Why don't you wait until I leave here?" she suggested. "No one can get me here. Then you can talk about him more, if you want."

Yearning deepened the blue of his eyes, and his fingers tightened in her hair. He looked anguished, and she knew he was going to say no.

"Okay."

She couldn't hide her surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah." He let out a deep breath, and met her gaze. "It feels good to talk about him."

She smiled. "I know."

He nodded, and took another deep breath. "I'm going to go back to the warehouse," he said, changing the subject. "You stay here. I want to see what I can learn."

With his words, the moment of intimacy and connection vanished, replaced by the ominous reality they were facing. "What if they catch you?"

"They can't. I'm the Black Swan. No one catches me." The cold edge to his voice eased some of her rising tension.

In their moment of lovemaking and intimacy, she'd started to see him as a man who loved, bled, and hurt. A man who stumbled through personal intimacies. A living creature who needed connection as much as anyone else. She'd forgotten about the unstoppable assassin he'd honed himself into over the years, a shadowy, deadly killer without remorse, vulnerability, or weakness.

In addition to being Slade Cross, he was the Black Swan, a man no one could find, let alone stop, and he was on her side. She grinned. "I forgot."

He didn't smile back. "Never forget, Anya. It defines me on all levels."

A cold chill prickled down her spine. The vulnerability he'd shown her was gone, and all that remained was the assassin she'd first met. "You don't have to be the Black Swan with me," she said, lightly elbowing his chest. "Just be Slade."

Again, yearning flashed across his face. He framed her face with his hands, and pulled her down to kiss her. His mouth was soft and tender, a kiss that made her heart turn over. "My sweet Anya," he whispered into the kiss. "It is with you I must be the most careful to protect who I need to be."

Her heart tightened, and she pulled back to look at him. "What does that mean?"

"It means you are my greatest weakness."

* * *

S
lade swore
when he saw the look of surprise on Anya's face. He realized he'd said too much, done too much, and crossed too many lines. What had he done, making love to her? Telling her about his brother? Lounging in bed simply because he wanted to preserve the moment of intimacy, of having her sprawled across him, her chin propped on her hands, while she talked to him as if he were real, approachable, and flawed.

"Slade—"

"I need to go." He palmed her hips and shifted her off him, gritting his teeth at the feel of her warm curves beneath his palms. He didn't want to get up. He wanted to stay here, with her, in his bed for the night. For the week. Forever?

She made him think of the life he'd once had, of connections he'd dismissed, of values that he'd abandoned long ago...and he couldn't afford to go there.

He swung his feet off the bed and strode across his room to his closet. He opened the double doors and walked inside. He headed straight toward the back, grabbing a pair of loose black pants and a black shirt—

"There's so much you hide about yourself." Anya's surprised voice drifted across the closet and he spun around.

She was standing in the doorway, gazing at the racks of his suits. "How many suits do you own?"

"I don't know." He grabbed a pair of boxer briefs and yanked them on, trying not to notice the way the light fell across her breasts and her hips. She didn't appear to care she was naked, but he cared. He cared a great deal. His cock was already hard, and perspiration beaded on his brow as he fought the urge to stride across the closet, sweep her up in his arms, and deposit her back on his bed.

She walked over to his tuxedo section and lightly stroked one of his sleeves. "You have six tuxedos."

"Yeah."

"Are all your suits custom made?" She brushed her fingers across the sleeve, and for a split second, he imagined her touching his arm that way. A light, barely-there brush that would require all his concentration just to feel it.

"Yeah, so?" He pulled on his pants, viscerally aware of every step she took. No one had ever been in his closet before, obviously. It should have felt dangerous, an insidious invasion of his most private world. Instead, anticipation hummed through him. He felt like he were on the edge of a high roof, crouched and ready...either to leap, or to retreat...depending on the wind, the night, and a thousand other factors so complex that only his subconscious could process them.

She picked up one of his shoes, an Italian-made wingtip he'd commissioned from his favorite Italian designer, while he'd been on one of his missions. "This is not what you wear when you're lurking in the dive bars hunting white leopards and assaulting demons."

He couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped. "No, this is true."

"So, what is all this?" She gestured around his closet. "Is this the real you?"

He glanced around the room, seeing it, for the first time, through someone else's eyes. The ceiling was high and well lit. The closet was spacious, with a large three-sided mirror in the dressing room. His clothes were organized to perfection, dozens of suits and dress shirts. To the right were his shadow clothes, the ones he wore when he needed to disappear. All of them were the finest material, designed to move with his body in absolute silence and withstand anything he asked of it. Flame retardant, woven with high-tech threads designed to block almost any projectile, including bullets, blades, and teeth, while still allowing him to reach out with his senses in all directions, pouring his psychic energy into the brain of anyone he targeted. It was high-tech, luxurious perfection, and he liked every damn thing in there. He shrugged. "It's all me."