Sweet Temptation (36 page)

A feminine giggle.
“Nope.”

“Come on, with a face like that . . .”

Anna gently peels my hand from her mouth. She kisses my palm, and it's so simple and sensual that I'm suddenly fighting for normal breath.

“I'll buy you a drink,”
Father says smoothly.

Anna kisses her way up my middle finger. I step back, but
she's still holding my hand, and she runs her tongue across my fingertip.

“Ah, damn it,” I whisper, yanking my hand away. She's killing me. She's going to kill
us
.

“Please . . .” She pulls her hair tie out, releasing her blond hair about her shoulders, those eyes still melting into me, begging me. It is nearly too much.

My ears fill with laughter from Father and the woman downstairs. I have no idea if he's listening. He seems fully focused on his prey, but I don't trust him. He clearly warned me against Anna.

“I will tie you up again if you don't behave,” I warn Anna.

Her eyes narrow wickedly. “Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?”

Anna Whitt just got sassy with me. And that is my breaking point.

The beast is alive, warnings be damned.

I grab her waist and turn her, pressing her back into the entertainment center so that I have leverage to press hard against her. The entire thing clatters madly. Her arms and hands are everywhere, clinging, digging, pulling. I kiss her hard, wanting to own all of her—every alcohol-laced breath of air that escapes her mouth—I want it all. We grope as we move to the couch.

Multiple footsteps are moving quickly down the hall.

I am on top of her, between her legs, realizing I should have ripped those shorts off before getting her this far. But I can't stop moving; her body feels so good against mine, her kisses and moans a delicacy.

“Sounds like the daughter of Belial is drunk again,”
comes Blake's voice down the hall.

“Shocker,”
snaps Ginger.

“We're about to have company,” I say, devouring the soft skin at her neck. I push my hand up her shirt, feeling her silky skin, and let my thumb rub under her bra. She gasps and undulates beneath me.

Banging echoes through the room. “Oi!” Ginger shouts. “Open the damn door.”

“I'm busy.” I nip Anna's bottom lip. The other Neph can lay off.

“The more the merrier,” Blake says.

I look at Anna and she shakes her head. Her eyes are still heavily lidded. “Just ignore them.” She grabs the bottom of my shirt and pulls it up, forcing me up, and she kisses a path across my pecs. Oh, yes.

I smash her into the couch with another blazing kiss.

“Don't let that skank take advantage of you when you're bored, son of Pharzuph.”

Anna tries to push her way up, shouting, “Who you callin' a skank, you—”

Oh, hell. I quickly cover her mouth and she struggles to get free. I wish they'd just bloody go away. Just one more time together before this godforsaken night begins. I can make it seem like an act of sheer lust. . . .

“Open up.” Kopano's voice is like a solid thing that rolls into the room and stares at us. I reel back and jump to my feet. Anna is still lying there, as if waiting for me to come back and take care of her. I turn away and press my forehead against the entertainment center.

I cannot answer the door just yet. I give the others a guttural whisper. “Hold on a moment.”

Once I calm down, I walk to the door and let them in. Their faces are disappointed and angry. One look at my eyes and Marna softens. Kope just nods and brushes past. Blake bumps my shoulder and I move aside.

I feel like an ass. This is too big, too important to mess around about. I trudge into the sitting area, where Anna has curled into a lounging position, and Ginger signs,
Are you mad? Or stupid?

We have to use caution
, Marna signs.

You could have gotten carried away and said something dumb,
Blake adds.

I'm sorry
, I sign.

“We're here to chaperone your guard duty and help out,” Marna says out loud. I suppose it's time to play this game.

“Let's get it started,” Blake says.

“I have to watch the wino,” I deadpan.

“She can sit there and watch us,” Blake says. “We won't let her go nowhere, ain't that right, Kope?”

“That's right,” Kope says with complete seriousness.

Blake bounces on the balls of his feet, getting into his role. “Pre-party, then summit, then we're back in business.”

“Fuckin' right,” Gin says. She glares at Anna.

When I look over, Anna is holding an empty beer bottle. Bloody hell—she drank the rest of the one on the table! Damn it! She should be starting to sober up now!

“Someone put on some music!” Marna cheers.

“Ezzactly!” Anna says. “I been trying to say that.”

I seem to recall Anna having a much higher tolerance a
year and a half ago when she'd worked on New Year's Eve, but then again, that's when her father had been training her up.

I pace my way up to the bedroom level overlooking the seating area, while the twins, Anna, and Blake begin to dance. Watching Anna dance isn't helping my frame of mind. Now that she's no longer falling down, she's carefree, lithe, and sexy.

I watch her like a hawk, so when she makes her way back over to the minibar, I'm ready. The others might not care if she has another, but I do. I march down there and take the bottle of chardonnay from her hand as she's tipping it back. A bit spills down her chin and she swallows.

“Hey! Give that—”

I press a hand over her mouth and look at her sternly. Her eyes blaze up at me. She is pushing
all
my buttons.

I turn her over to Marna because I don't know what to do with half-drunk sexy girls other than shag them, and Anna keeps touching me, making me want to do just that.

I hate watching everyone pretend they're living it up in Vegas while what we're really doing is sitting around waiting for this
thing
to happen, the moment that will define us. It's maddening.

I temporarily lose Father, then find him again at the high-stakes table with that same woman. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.

The twins take Anna into the bathroom to clean her up, and then I hear her getting sick. Kope and I look at each other. He shakes his head. I know. I shouldn't go in there. I can't show concern.

When she starts to cry, my heart shatters and I ignore
Kope's outstretched hand to stop me. I push past Blake and burst into the bathroom. The twins silently try to stop me as well, but I know what I'm doing. I'll be quiet. I have to comfort her.

Anna is on her knees under the running water, sitting back on her heels in the shower stall, soaking wet in her underwear. Her hands are on the tiles. She looks up at me with the saddest, reddest eyes. I quickly unbutton my dress shirt and throw it to the sink, followed by my undershirt. Then I open the stall door and crouch behind her, taking her in my arms. She sinks back into me, shaking. We sit there for the next twenty minutes with my arms around her while her bloodstream clears.

When she finally turns to look at me, her eyes are clear, and I nod.

I stand, dry my arms, and leave her to get ready.

I hate this night. It's hard to imagine that things will look up from here. I can only imagine all the ways they can get worse.

“We are the lions, free of the coliseums . . .

We're the beginning of the end.”

—“Young Volcanoes” by Fall Out Boy

I
knew things would get worse.

Whispered voices down the hall catch my attention, European accents. I hear the name Marek and I listen intently. It's a language I don't understand, but the man speaking sounds urgent. He slips into English at the end.
“Find it.”

Footsteps head down the hall, our direction. It's Marek, and I know what he's after. I run to my duffel bag and yank out Anna's bag from within, shoving it toward her.

“Here's your bag. Get ready.” She stares at me like I've gone crazy. I sign,
Hide the hilt! The son of Shax is coming!

She pales and opens the bag. We all watch, tense, as she pulls out a sack of wrapped sweets, looks around the room
frantically, and then shoves the sack into the rubbish bin. The hilt has traveled the world, hidden in this fashion, with no notice, undetected by man-made machines. But something tells me the son of Theft will be harder to fool.

Moments later he's at the door, with a whisperer following him in. Marek is matter-of-fact, completely at ease. It's almost eerie the way Marek seems to know exactly what he's looking for—the bag of taffies. He fishes it from the bin and opens it, removing the hilt.

He turns to me. “She had it all along. Don't you know never to trust a pretty face?” His eyes scan me from top to bottom. I'm getting a sense from this guy that I can't place. It's nothing to do with the sensual way he takes me in. It's in the way his eyes seem to be trying to communicate something more. I am rigid from the fact that he's taking the Sword of Righteousness on his father's orders, but something in his gaze tells me not to fight it.

When Marek and the whisperer leave, Shax gives him instructions:
“Dispose of it. Bury it in the desert if you must.”

We've lost our solitary weapon, and it's almost time to leave for the summit. Panic flares in my chest, and then oddly subsides. From the look on Anna's face, she's got enough anxiety for the both of us.

It's not until an hour later, as Marek is checking us over at the door to the nightclub, that I figure out what's strange about him—he gives off no evil vibes, no malicious intent. I don't get the feeling from him that I get with the Dukes and sons of Thamuz and other likely suspects. Marek takes his time
patting me down. When the metal detector blares at my boots, and he checks them over with care, I am not nervous. He wears a malevolent expression, but I am the king of masks, and his feels false.

Despite appearances, I have the feeling Marek is an ally. I think he knew how the hilt was hidden because Belial got ahold of him. When he glances up at me from where he's crouched at my feet, we share the smallest of inconspicuous grins. He knows there are compartments in the underside of my boots, but he doesn't open them. He merely stands and nods for me to move along. I don't linger. I want to tell Anna my suspicions, to ease her mind, but it's not safe. As we enter the club, I bloody hope I'm right about Marek. I hope the son of Theft has the hilt up his sleeve, ready to play.

I keep myself consistently buzzed with a constant stream of alcohol. I have to keep the bonds between me and Anna hidden from Astaroth. I wish I could stay sober, but I must remain on that cusp of fuzziness.

As promised, Father shows to walk Anna into the summit, ready to take full credit for her “capture.” He looks her over with a sneer, and I know what he's thinking.

She looks the part—a badass mercenary in black leather with heeled boots, and bright blond hair flowing wildly. Her eyes are dark and her lips are red. She doesn't back down from his stare.

Father turns to me with an abrasive glare. “This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I said to get her different clothes.”

I don't respond. He grabs her arm and yanks her toward the VIP room where the summit will take place. Anna turns
her head to capture my gaze over her shoulder. She is afraid, but pushing forward. My brave girl. Anyone else, including me, would have tried to run from this fate.

I'm here
, I tell her with my eyes.
I'm not going anywhere.

Father struts into the darkened lounge, shooting a haughty look at the other Dukes, and shoves Anna away. “Go sit down until we're ready to deal with you.”

I want to grab him by the thick neck and deal with
him
right now. I feel Marna scratch me gently on the back to calm me, and we all move forward, following Anna to the long black couches along the wall. Fake stars twinkle down on us from the black ceiling. Other Nephilim from around the world filter in and sit along the walls with us.

I search the room for exits. Aside from where we entered, there seems to be a door on the side wall that blends in with all the black. It has no exit sign. The club is underground, so that door could lead to a cellar or closet. I wish I could check for certain.

When Astaroth arrives, Marna inconspicuously leans forward and glances between me and Anna, checking to see if the bond will be visible to her father. She gives a satisfied nod to say we're okay, and I exhale. I'm more nervous than I've ever been, but it's different than the last summit. We still don't have a plan. We've no clue how to take down all of these Dukes and spirits. Anna keeps talking about having faith, how this battle is bigger than just her, bigger than any of us, but I just want her to live. And yes. I want the demons gone for good.

I haven't let myself imagine what life will be like without them, but as I watch the eleven of them mingling—all present
except Belial—the lot of them unconcerned and unbothered by the hell they've put everyone through, I want them gone so badly it burns like acid in my blood. I want them to pay.

I sit very still, as do the other Neph. We learned early on not to fidget. Not to draw attention or show weakness or disrespect. Anna starts to nibble on her nail and I nudge her leg with mine. She drops her hand to her lap.

Moments later Duke Rahab fills the open spot in the center of the room. All attention is on him as he speaks in a French accent, malice lacing each word. “I never believed this summit would be called. But alas . . . the great prophecy is upon us.” He motions to Father. I tense as Father strides straight to Anna, yanking her to her feet. My lungs constrict, watching him pull her to the middle of the room.

I slide to the edge of my seat.

“Her badge holds the white of innocence,” Rahab spits. “First the angels intervened to keep her alive, and then her father goes missing when we attempt to question him. But once we take out his offspring, we will find Belial, and he will be dealt with.”

“How can this be, Brother Rahab?” asks Blake's dad, Melchom. Blake stares at his father in his new, young body—he looks like a Chinese movie star, and he's modeled his hair to look just like Blake's. “The prophecy was a myth!”

Rahab grins wickedly. “We have reason to believe that eighteen years ago a guardian angel broke ranks and possessed her human to be with a Duke. Some of you might recall the angel Mariantha and her touching bond with Belial?”

“The traitor!” bellows Zania's father, Duke Sonellion. His
eyes burn red and he bashes a fist against the table. Other Dukes follow suit, shouting their disgust.

“I am not sold on this so-called prophecy,” calls the smooth voice of Duke Alocer, Kope's father. “How do we know it's true? What proof do we have?”

The Dukes are so accustomed to being lied to from every angle that they break into an argument about the prophecy's validity. I'm quite pleased about this development, as watching them squabble among themselves makes me feel that our ranks of Neph are stronger. Plus, it gives me a chance to discreetly bend my knee up and reach down, prying my knife from the sole of my boot. And then, slowly, I grab the other, sliding them both into my pockets.

The only person in the whole room who subtly glances at me is Marek, from his station at the door. His cheeks tighten as if he's holding back a grin, and that seals my earlier wonderings. He's golden.

The Dukes are raising their voices now over confusion about the prophecy. Rahab's version completely leaves out the pivotal bit about the demons being given a chance at redemption—he thinks the prophecy is only about banishing them from earth, back to hell. Anna watches them intently, her forehead pinched.

The first true wave of terror hits me when I hear her speak. Her voice reaches above them all. “You're all being given a second chance at heaven!”

Rahab's hand flies back and he hits her so hard she falls to the floor. I am on my feet, but I'm not alone. Our entire row has stood.

“What are we waiting for?” Duke Thamuz yells. “Let's kill her!”

If he goes near her, he will be the first to see the edge of my knife this night. I watch him carefully for any sign that he'll pull a weapon. But he is shushed by the other Dukes who want to find out what Anna's talking about.

Now they're fighting over whether or not to let her talk and whether or not to believe her. They finally decide to let Anna state the prophecy in its entirety, and Jezebet, the Duke of Lies, confirms that Anna's telling the truth. But none of this is working. They're too thick to see this is a good thing for them. The Dukes hate hell, but they love earth. Here, they are gods. Why would they want to return to heaven, where everyone is equal? They want to kill Anna purely for suggesting it.

Father yanks Anna by the hair and grabs her, putting an arm around her throat. I move forward quickly, but Ginger grabs my back pocket to hold me in check. I push her hand away and stare at Anna—they're scaring her to death. I can't bloody stand here much longer.

Duke Thamuz is practically drooling, his eyes bright red. “Enough games. I want blood.” I palm my knife in my pocket. If it's blood he wants, I'll give him his own.

I search the walls and ceiling desperately for that bright light, thinking now would be a brilliant time for the angels to show, but there are only demons and Neph.

Father chuckles and I seethe at how he holds Anna against himself, eyes bright with hunger for his prey. “We will savor her. I won't even have her first. She's my little gift to you, brothers. Just be careful not to kill her yet, because she needs
to suffer in every possible way. Heaven is watching. Let's give them a show.”

I can hardly breathe as the Dukes move toward her, their eyes glowing red—Mammon, Thamuz, and Sonellion—Dukes of Greed, Murder, and Hatred. My eyes dart across the walls. Where are the bloody angels???

Anna struggles against Father as he laughs, darkly, getting his kicks off her fear, feeding off the rabid look in the others' eyes. I can't take it.

“Father . . . ,” I call.

“Not now!” He doesn't even turn.

Mammon, the bastard who killed his own son, Flynn, is mere feet away from Anna, and he's unbuckling his pants. I glance at Kope, his eyes severe, and he gives me a nod.

I zone in on Mammon as he licks his lips lewdly and reaches for Anna. Before I can blink again, my knife is out, opened, and flying directly toward its target. It imbeds deep in his eye, only the handle showing.

My God.

I hold my breath. He staggers back, then to the side as he tries to right himself, and ultimately falls to his knees. His spirit starts wrenching itself out before the body is dead, frantically fighting to release itself as if it's on fire. I pull out my second knife and snap it open. All eyes are on Mammon, in horror and confusion.

Father turns abruptly, dragging Anna sideways. His face is contorted, livid, and he sprays spittle when he snarls at me.
“What have you done?”

“Just a bit of holy water on the blade,” I tell him.

Mammon's body dies with a
thunk
on the floor, and his spirit writhes in midair, in agony.

“You,” Father whispers. He advances on me, pulling Anna, and my stomach twists. I have publicly shamed him in the worst possible way, and if something doesn't happen soon, it could get very ugly. “I trusted you.”

I nearly laugh. “No, you didn't.”

Father gapes. Neph and Dukes alike gasp at my backtalk. I have to be careful here—I need to get Anna away from him, and I only have one knife left. He's pulled her body in front of his, practically crouching behind her.

“You filthy, weak idiot!” Father shouts. “You had more potential than all my past sons combined! How could you let yourself be charmed, like a dog, by a Neph girl? You're a failure.”

You're a failure.
Nothing I ever did was good enough.

“Kill him,” Rahab demands.

Nobody moves.

Adrenaline beats through me as I stare around at the room, glad to have the attention off Anna. I weave the blade through my fingers, hoping they will forget about her and let her go while they're focused on me. I wait for them to advance, but they simply stare at me with red eyes, quickened breaths, and ferocious faces.