When Temptation Burns: A Shadow Keepers Novel (Shadow Keepers 6) (27 page)

“I don’t know,” Andy admitted. “But this has helped. Thank you.”

“Sure. I guess it’s pretty cool you came to me. You’re the first person I’ve ever really given advice to.”

“Then it’s an honor. How about you? What are you going to do?”

“You mean with Kurt?” Her voice rose to a squeak, the former confidence disappearing.

“That’s what I mean.”

“Duh. Nothing.”

“So you’re trying to get me and Doyle together, but you’re not even going to see what happens with Kurt?”

“You know about Doyle. Kurt doesn’t have a clue about me.”

“So?”

She frowned, then shrugged. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll buy two hot dogs and see if he wants to share.”

“Can’t hurt, right?”

“I hope not,” the girl said. She made a face, then blew out a noisy breath. “So, what started all of this, anyway? The way he kicked up the wind? Seriously?”

Andy hesitated, but CeeCee had helped her too much. She couldn’t play coy now. “He was hungry,” she said, wanting to spare the girl the part about the fight. “And he ended up feeding off of my essence.” She told her the rest of the story, ending up with dropping him at Orlando’s.

“Your essence? Oh, you mean your soul?”

Something cold and terrifying uncurled in Andy’s gut. “What?”

“Doyle feeds on souls. Even I know that.”

“Souls. As in—souls?”

“Yeah. You should know that—why else would you take him to Orlando’s?” She must have noticed Andy’s clueless expression, because she continued. “Duh. It’s a soul-trading bar.”

Andy swallowed, her father’s sermons running through her head, sermons about the sanctity of the soul and the devil’s ploy to steal it. “Did—did he hurt me by taking it?”

CeeCee shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t think so. I mean, that wouldn’t make much sense, would it?”

“Are you sure?”

CeeCee just stared. Apparently, she wasn’t sure.

And that meant that Andy wasn’t finished yet.

And she knew of only one place she could go to get the answers that she still needed.

Doyle kept his eyes closed, breathing deeply of the soul that was being pumped through the feeding machine. Usually, it was the machine he wanted.

Today, it wasn’t enough for him—he wanted living soul.

He wanted Andy.

He squeezed his eyes closed, hating the direction of his thoughts.

He’d taken just a little from her—only enough to give him the strength to survive the trip to Orlando’s. But it had been momentous. The sweet sensation, the glorious taste. The heady knowledge that her very essence was twining with his—that they were sharing something even more intimate than sex …

He shuddered, longing now for something he couldn’t have. Because while the moment itself had been amazing, he’d seen her face in the aftermath. The horror reflected there when she’d realized the full extent of what he was—a dark creature. A monster.

Fuck
.

Slowly, he pushed the machine away, then sat up, rubbing his temples. He was full now, but he still felt ripped. Not physically, but emotionally. Andy had come into his life and she’d knocked him sideways. He’d had her for just the briefest of moments, and he’d lost her as quickly
as he’d lost Kathryn when she’d tumbled from that window.

But Andy’s not dead
.

Maybe not, but she might as well be. To her, he was the enemy. Her enemy, the world’s enemy, Paul’s enemy.

Paul’s enemy
. The thought jolted through his head again, and he cursed as he jumped off the table.
Shit
, how could he have been so stupid?

He pulled open the door and stepped out of the private room and into the posh hallway that led to the main part of the club. It looked like any number of nightclubs, with multiple dance floors, beautiful waitresses, and tables scattered about for the guests.

He found Tucker sitting around a table upon which a scantily clad succubus was dancing. “I’m in love,” Tucker said.

“I thought you were immune to a succubus’s charms,” Doyle said.

Tucker looked the girl up and down. “A succubus, sure. But I’d have to be dead to be immune to that.” He shifted his attention to Doyle. “You got your tank all topped off?”

“We need to go see Andy.”

Tucker’s eyes widened, and Doyle saw his partner come to the same conclusion. “Oh, fuck me,” Tucker said, then slammed back the last of his drink before standing. “You think she’s talked to him yet?”

“I hope not.” He was betting she hadn’t. He’d come to know her pretty well in the short time they’d known each other, and he didn’t think she’d run to Paul right away. She’d want to get it straight in her own head first. Hopefully that would buy him some time.

“You’ll need to ask her,” he said, catching Tucker’s eye. “And you’ll need to make sure she tells us the truth.”

“I can do that. And afterwards?”

The question hung in the air between them. Doyle hesitated at the club entrance, wishing there was another way, but knowing there wasn’t. “Afterwards, you wipe her memory,” he said, and then he pushed out into the night.

Orlando’s was bustling, and Andy stood in the thick of it, her back ramrod straight, hoping that she didn’t look so out of place that someone would come over and decide to unceremoniously suck out part of her soul.

A beautiful woman with long blond curls glided toward her and stretched out her hand, the gesture punctuated by a welcoming smile. “My doorman says you’d like to speak with me?”

“You’re Lissa?” Doyle had mentioned the woman’s name in his call to Orlando’s, and she’d asked for her specifically when she walked in the door.

“I am. I’m the owner.”

“I’m Andy. Thanks for seeing me. I should say right off that I’m not—well, I’m human.”

Lissa’s laugh rang out. “Yes. I can tell. Come with me.”

She led Andy to an office that overlooked the main floor of the club. She sat behind a desk and gestured for Andy to take the chair opposite her. “Are you here about Doyle?”

“How did you know that?”

“Doyle was parched when he came in, but he’d fed
enough to allow him to keep his hunger under control. I asked him how. He told me about you.”

“Oh. What did he say?”

“That he was afraid he’d terrified you, but that you were exceptionally brave to help him. He thinks you’re quite remarkable.”

“Oh.” She felt her cheeks warm and realized she was blushing. “The thing is, I don’t think he told me the exact truth about what he took from me.”

One eyebrow arched up. “No? What did he say?”

“That he needed some of my essence.”

“That’s a fair statement.”

“Really?” Andy asked, afraid to get her hopes up. “I thought maybe what he really took was some of my soul.”

Lissa folded her hands on her desk. “That’s a fair statement, too.”

“Oh.” Her mind filled with the images she’d grown up with—vibrantly colored paintings by Renaissance masters depicting souls writhing in hell. “But—”

“You’re limited by what you think you know,” Lissa said gently. “Your soul isn’t like a gold ingot that you have to protect. It’s like a fruit tree that blossoms and grows. Sharing a part of your soul willingly won’t hurt you. It happens all the time. You share your soul with the people you love every day. It grows, it changes. And if it’s not tattered or broken, then losing part of it won’t harm you. If anything, it will grow back even more robustly. Like pruning a tree.”

“Do you mean that?” It went against everything she’d ever believed, and yet she couldn’t escape the memory of what it had felt like. Wonderful. Like starlight on a summer night.

“Of course I do. A soul given willingly can be an amazing shared experience. Sensual. Even erotic.”

“And if the person’s unwilling?”

Lissa’s face darkened. “That can damage both the giver and the taker. Is that what happened between the two of you?”

“No,” Andy said immediately.

“Of course not. Doyle wouldn’t do that to you.” Lissa smiled. “Have I calmed some of your fears?”

“You have. Thank you.”

“Most humans wouldn’t have the courage to walk in here and demand to see me, much less start questioning me.”

Andy resisted the urge to lick her lips. “I hope I didn’t offend you. But—well, it’s important that I understand this. Because …” She trailed off, frowning.

“Because you don’t want to run away from a man you care about for the wrong reasons? I understand. And I won’t tell Doyle you came to me.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re a lucky woman to have your eyes opened to a whole new world. Who knows what amazing things you’ll see?” Lissa stood. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour. I think you’ll find it eye-opening.”

Andy lay in bed, her body burning with need, her back arching up, her lips parting.
Please. Please, now
.

His hands were on her, his brown eyes on her face, so intent on seeing her. Rough hands slid beneath her nightgown and stroked her, brushing hard nipples, sliding over soft skin.

Doyle, Doyle, oh yes, please, Doyle
.

She knew somehow that this was a dream. That she’d wake up and be alone. That when the morning dawned he’d be gone and her courage to confront him would be gone, too. Because despite everything she and CeeCee had talked about, despite the calming words from Lissa, things between her and Doyle were complicated. And scary. And truly messed up.

But in dreams? She could lose herself to him in dreams, and that’s what she was doing right now, giving herself over to pleasure, to him, to the sweet sensation of his touch. To the simplicity of being with him.

In her dream, his hand stroked her belly, fingers dancing over soft skin. She moaned, feeling half-awake, like this was really happening, but keeping her eyes tightly shut because she knew that was impossible.

But oh, dear Lord, that touch
.

That touch was real
.

Doyle?

Her eyes flew open with joy—and a hard hand stifled
the scream that rose from her mouth only an instant later.

“Hello, beautiful,” Kyle Creevey said. “Told ya I’d make you come for me. I think now’s a damn good time, don’t you?”

The fingers on his free hand stroked her stomach some more, then inched down to snap the elastic of her panties.

She tried to speak, to scream, but he tightened his grip over her mouth. “No, no, no. Now don’t struggle.” His mouth quirked up. “Actually, what the hell, struggle if you want. That only makes it more fun.”

She swallowed, trying to think. Trying to remember everything she knew about him. He took his time, she knew that. But in the end, he always killed his victims.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and realized her mind was still focused on Doyle. On the desperate fantasy that he’d rescue her. On the wish that he was here to hold her and make her fear go away. She didn’t know what he was—all she knew was that she wanted the chance to know him. To see if what she’d felt for him was real—and if he’d truly felt it, too. And now, dear God, she’d lost it.

“You want me,” Creevey whispered. “Oh, yeah. You know you do. Now come on, baby. Open up for daddy.” His knee was between her legs and he was trying to pry them wider apart. She tensed, fighting him. She knew it would ultimately be futile, but she had to try. Had to fight. Had to pray that somehow, someone would—