Embrace of the Damned (9 page)

The shower was divine, a large walk-in affair with multiple spigots. She washed her body thoroughly, then did it a second time. The filth from her encounter with the demon from the parking garage still clung to her. She shook her head under the water, trying to absorb that truth.

She’d been attacked by a demon. Twice.

Skin polished to a soft pink, and feeling refreshed, she toweled off and wrapped herself in the huge bathrobe that hung on the back of the door. Then she exited the bathroom, still drying her hair.

Her clothes were still lying scattered where Broder had thrown them and there was no sign that the man had ever returned. Sighing, she began cleaning up.

Broder’s bike shot out of the mouth of the garage and sped down the long driveway leading to the main street. The trees that lined either side of the quarter-mile drive whipped past as he accelerated.

He needed to rid himself of the powerful lust he had for Jessa and this was one of the only ways he knew how to do
it—speed. The other way was demon hunting; he might do some of that, too.

He hit the main street and accelerated again, weaving in and out of traffic with practiced ease, headed for Maryland where he could drive unimpeded. Maybe the wind could blow some of this tension from his body.

He wanted her so much he ached. Being denied that way—it had cut through the layers of numbness he’d cultivated—straight to the bone.

There had been a precarious moment when he’d almost pushed her. Not so hard it would have been rape—he would never do that to any woman—but he’d considered seducing her into saying yes. He’d sensed the desire in her, had been able to scent it on her skin. He’d known that if he touched her just a little more—
just the right way
—she would have given in to him easily. She would have melted and let him do anything to her that he wanted—and he
wanted
so much.

The temptation had ridden the edge of his control, but in the end he hadn’t been able to do it. When Jessa wanted him to take her, he wanted her to want it with everything she was—and not to regret anything afterward.

It was going to be hard to wait for her to come to him and he couldn’t be sure he’d be able to resist her in the future. Her skin was too smooth, her lips too full, and her body too curvaceous and inviting.

Tonight he’d won the battle with himself. Tomorrow all bets were off.

Jessa turned out the light on the bedside table and snuggled under the blanket, closing her eyes. Too nervous to face the other odd men in the house, she’d stayed in Broder’s room all day. One of the hunky guys had brought dinner up to her, something her stomach had been incredibly grateful for, but Broder had never returned.

She’d spent the day going through his books instead. She’d found an incredible library of them in a large cabinet
in the walk-in closet. Tomes of all kinds, from all across the centuries.

If Jessa hadn’t already been convinced that Broder had been telling her the truth about his age, the library would have done it. Either he was very, very old, or he was an incredibly wealthy book collector.

Jessa had a degree in American literature. Even though her aunt had warned her to stay away from such a useless tract of study, she’d pursued the subject anyway because she loved it so much. Before her aunt’s death and her subsequent discoveries had sent her into a tailspin, she’d been attending graduate school at night to further her studies. Until recently she’d worked as an accounts receivable clerk for a manufacturing company—hardly exciting—but one day she hoped to teach American literature at a university. She needed her PhD to do that.

She’d spent the entire day propped against the wall in the closet, carefully flipping through the aging pages of the books with a tissue to keep the oil from her fingers away from the precious paper. She was going to have to talk to him about preserving these tomes. Broder had first editions of Emerson and Hawthorne. She’d nearly wet herself when she’d found a copy of William Hill Brown’s
The Power of Sympathy.
For the first time since her ordeal had begun, she’d been at peace—totally calm and centered—as she’d immersed herself in
Walden
and
Moby-Dick
.

It was ironic that Broder had given her that gift.

When her aunt had died, the grief had been overwhelming. Then the other things had begun to occur, the strangeness … the photos. She’d been forced to put everything on the back burner—work, school, all of it.

Luckily she’d received a handsome life insurance settlement that had allowed her to quit her job for the time being—she’d loathed it with a bone-deep hatred, anyway. Giving up school for a year had been a harder decision to make, but it had been necessary.

The closet contained far more books than clothing, but
she had managed to find a pair of sweatpants and a sweater to wear. Both were incredibly—comically—too big for her, but it was better than lounging around in his bathrobe all day.

Too bad every single article of his clothing smelled like him—leather and the barest whiff of his cologne. It was downright intoxicating. She had to resist the urge to throw all his clothes on the bed and roll around in them like a cat in nip.

Someone had sent up dinner, consisting of a steak, potatoes, and a salad. She’d eaten everything but the steak—she was a vegetarian—then selected a battered first edition Edith Wharton novel and curled up in bed with it. She’d read until she could barely keep her eyes open and then had surrendered to the inevitable; her body needed sleep.

She wondered if someone like Broder needed it.

Rubbing her cheek against the cool pillow, she tried her best to banish him from her thoughts and endeavored to ignore the fact that the pillow also smelled like him. The scent of him relaxed her, made her feel protected, though she tried to deny it.

After her encounter in the parking garage, she felt pretty secure in this house … although she wasn’t too sure of all those men. She’d locked the door before she’d slipped into bed with the book and lodged a chair under the doorknob just for good measure.

But Broder made her feel safe.

The man was all sorts of contradictions and made her feel all sorts of contradictory things. It was as though her head and her heart had begun warring the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

In fact, she was so distracted dealing with all these new problems that she wasn’t thinking very much about her original ones. And she really needed to get back to those.

Her heart squeezed, thinking of her aunt … or her non-aunt. Jessa wasn’t sure anymore. No matter who Margaret had really been, she’d been the only mother Jessa had ever known. No matter what Jessa found out about her true identity, Margaret had been a good parent … and Jessa missed her so much.

Soon she hoped she would discover just who Margaret
Hamilton had been, and that bit of information, in turn, would lead Jessa closer to discovering who
she
truly was.

And why she had these strange abilities.

Broder woke with the warmth of another body at his side. He closed his eyes again, trying to make sense of the odd sensation in his chest. It was warm and full, such a contrast to the cold black hole that usually resided there. He’d slept well.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept well.

Pressing a hand to his chest to dispel the warm oddness, he turned over carefully. Jessa probably didn’t even know he’d slipped into the bed with her. The night before he hadn’t been sure he could do it—sleep in the same bed with her this way. It had been a challenge not to give in to temptation and touch her.

Now she lay on her back, one arm thrown up over her head and her dark lashes shadowing the creamy skin of her cheeks. He knew just how creamy that skin truly was and his fingers itched to stroke it again … all the way down her body.

He pulled the quilt down a fraction, then stopped himself.

Clenching his fists, he forced himself to sit up, get away from her. It was hard to be a gentleman when you weren’t one in your darkest heart. He was still a Viking warrior, even after a thousand years. He still felt compelled to take what he wanted. To plunder and pillage.

It was hard not to touch her when he knew he could make her moan, make her like it. The memory of the way he’d made her come the day before made him crazy. No amount of fast motorcycle rides could force away his intense desire for her. No amount of demon slaying could wash away his intense need to touch her, hold her, to make her his.

And, fuck, how he wanted her.

He pushed up to his feet and gazed down at her. After a moment he turned away and went into the bathroom, where he showered and changed. She’d taken a shower in here. It was odd to see his things displaced; he’d lived alone for so long.

Emerging a short time later dressed in a pair of jeans and scrubbing a towel through his damp hair, he found Jessa awake and sitting up in the bed, her wary gaze slipping down his bare chest to his feet and back up again. Heat flared in her eyes and his body answered, his cock responding to that naked flash of desire in her eyes.

She jerked her head toward the door, where the remains of the smashed chair lay strewn on the floor. He’d found the chair lodged under the knob when he’d tried to enter the room the night before. “I’m not sure if I should be more concerned that you did that, or that you did that and I never heard it.”

Tossing the towel over the back of a nearby, intact, chair, he replied, “You were sleeping like the dead when I came in.”

Her gaze landed on a couple of shopping bags on the floor by the fireplace. “What are those?”

“Clothes. Toiletries. Stuff like that. Things I figured you’d need.”

She stared at the bags for a long moment. “How did you know my size?”

“I didn’t. I guessed.” To determine her clothing size, he’d had to recall the shape of her under his hands. It had nearly wrecked him.

Her eyes found his. “Somehow I have trouble seeing you shopping, especially for … toiletries.”

“I didn’t go shopping. Someone else did. A woman I know.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Your girlfriend?”

He ground his teeth together. “No.” He’d like to tell her who the woman was, but he thought she’d had enough revelations to rock her world for a while. She’d probably find out soon enough, anyway. “Don’t worry about it. It’s done. Hope your new clothes fit.”

And now she could get out of his clothes. They were driving him insane because it mingled their scents—hers with his. He had a nose not unlike a wolf’s, thanks to the Blight sliver embedded in his chest. Smelling their mingled
scents on the clothes she wore, on the mattress she’d slept on, reminded him of sex.

“Well, thanks for the stuff, but I can’t stay here for a long time or anything. I had a life, you know, before the parking garage. I was busy … doing something. I need to get back to that.”

“Have you not heard a word I’ve said in the last twelve hours? You won’t
have
a life if you leave here, woman.”

She glared at him. “I heard you and believed you, even though it all seems impossible. That doesn’t change the fact that I was engaged in very important activities before you entered my life, ones I can’t abandon, not even if it means I’ll be risking my life. I’ll be careful. I won’t go back home, I’ll use cash, I’ll arm myself well. I won’t be putting myself in danger.”

“You’re already in danger. We need to figure out why.” He clenched his fists and made a low growling noise. He wasn’t going to lose her yet.

Never,
a deep, dark part of him growled.

She calmed his soul and no one had done that in centuries. One day Loki would make him give her up … but not yet. “No. You’re not leaving. I won’t permit it.”

She leapt out of bed. “Listen, Mr. Caveman, do you not know anything about the modern-day woman? Giving us orders only makes us want to kick you in the junk.”

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. She reminded him of a Viking woman; they’d never had much trouble going toe-to-toe with a warrior, either.

“Stay for the day at least. We’ll go over everything, figure out what’s going on with you, what makes you a target. You can tell me what ‘activity’ it is you’re so engaged in that you’ll risk your life for it. Maybe we can help. To do that, though, you’re going to have to tell me everything. No secrets.”

She stood with her hands on her hips and considered him for a long moment. “A day.”

“A day.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I guess a day and a little conversation wouldn’t hurt.” Then she went for the bags and retreated into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

Great. He had a day to figure out a way to keep her from leaving.

He finished dressing and by the time he was done, she’d emerged wearing a pair of jeans, a black sweater, and a pair of black boots. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, looking like gold and silver spun out into threads. She even wore a little makeup. The Valkyrie who’d done the shopping had excellent taste.

Broder tried not to swallow his tongue. Instead, he turned toward the door and grunted, “Breakfast,” at her.