Shaiani’s
bochnori
must’ve taught her some tricks, which made her dangerous. And even more intriguing.
Every time her image skirted through his mind his body returned to a state of painful arousal. Distracted and unable to focus on suppressing his daemon nature, he kept losing control at random. He’d tripled his dose of pentobarbital. Despite his failure to feel with Nasha, he had given himself a hand job when the arousal returned, thinking only of Shaiani. For the first time in centuries, he experienced euphoria at the release, even if it did not quench his need to be inside a woman. But obviously not any woman, as he’d discovered with Nasha.
He ground his molars hating the sensitized skin of his groin. The ability to experience sensation was no longer novel. Now it was an annoying distraction he needed to resolve.
He jabbed a syringe of pentobarb into his left thigh and sat hard in his desk chair, glaring at the ceiling. As the mind-null hit, all feeling dulled. And finally he could think. Why did this happen? Why her and why now?
As if a door opened in his mind, the answer appeared. The curse had boomeranged. It swung right around and bit him in the ass. Didn’t he warn all his pupils that casting eternity curses wasn’t to be taken lightly? Ricochet and random were the norm. After so many centuries, he presumed he’d cast the perfect curse. He must figure out how to modify the curse to leave him out of it. Perhaps he could at least enjoy this for a bit once he had her, though.
He envisioned making her scream with pain before he came. He couldn’t wait.
Thank the gods for marooning Dakar in the Middle Realm centuries ago, where he would be trapped for all eternity. Shaiani could be his toy this time around. And how delightful, if she had no memory.
Chapter Eighteen
Ashor gritted out, “A pre-mag knows Shay? You level with me right now, Khyan. What the hell is going on?” He caught Dakar in a lethal glare and pointed at the bedroom. “You know that girl from a previous lifetime, don’t you?”
Dakar gave a curt nod. “So does Djoser.”
“He goes by Terek Nadir right now.”
Dakar shrugged. “Djoser. Terek. Same evil cocksucker that would do almost anything to get his hands on her.” Dakar glanced upwards and blew out a resigned sigh.
Damn the gods for their games
.
Ashor asked, “Why would a daemon that has somehow figured out how to stay coherent in a possessed human body and suppress the killing urge be interested in a human woman? This one in particular?”
“I stole her from him.”
“You stole a woman from the daemon? I didn’t think daemons had any interest in humans, at least sexually. They just want to kill humans for the high.”
“He was human when this occurred. I know not if daemons are capable of being with a human. This is about revenge, hate, and some other bullshit. It’s complicated.”
“From what I gather, this daemon was a second dynasty Egyptian pharaoh. Were you a magus and he a pharaoh when you stole his mistress?”
“Yes, he was Pharaoh. She was intended as his third wife.” Dakar retied his hair away from his face.
“You stole a pharaoh’s fiancé?” Ashor asked.
With a rare smile, Dakar said, “Yes.”
“Some pretty bad shit went down a long time ago with this daemon,” Khyan said.
“No stalling. Spit it out. Now.” If steam could roll from Ashor’s nostrils, it would’ve done so. Rage poured off him in waves of pulsating energy.
The bedroom door opened and Christian stepped out.
For Dakar, all interest in discussing the past dissipated with one glimpse of the elated look on Christian’s face. His brain shot straight into a homicidal haze. The rake did not get to complicate his mess with Shaiani. No way did he get to touch what was his.
Christian cast him a glare fierce with challenge. “Stay away. You’re not good enough for her.”
Dakar reigned in his impulse to decapitate and dismember. He gritted out, “What is she to you?”
“None of your business.”
“Uuuggh,” Khyan groaned. “Wrong answer, Christian.”
Dakar was across the room towering over Christian in less than a second. He growled. “Everything that has to do with her is my business. Is she your
senariai
?”
A flicker of fear registered on Christian’s face, but then passed. “No. Is she yours?”
Relief swept through Dakar. He wouldn’t have to kill a non-Turned magus. In that moment, he knew he was within seconds of flipping. Of Turning. Of going full-on crazy-ass lethal. He had never Turned, at least not completely. That didn’t mean he wasn’t familiar with the
kem-seki
pressing on his mind, demanding he give into base desire and irrational destruction. Dark fury rolled in like a storm, threatening to take over. The
kem-seki
demanded he tear this smug asshole to shreds. His mind clouded within the haze of darkness.
He needed her. Now. She could make the darkness go away, at least for a while.
Christian prompted, “You act like she’s your
senariai
.”
Dakar reached for calm, but failed. His priority need had been denied for far too long. He required a little horizontal mambo with one green-eyed redhead. Beneath him, on top of him, surrounding him. He needed her like water for a critically dehydrated man in the desert. Without her, sanity would be no more.
“Get out of his way, Christian,” Khyan ordered.
“No. He looks like he’s going to murder her. I’m not letting him anywhere near her.”
Khyan jumped for Christian and physically shoved him out of Dakar’s path.
****
Shitkickers planted wide and fists curled at his side, Dakar looked as if he’d just had one too many fuck-you buttons pushed.
From her perch on the far side of the bed, a shiver of fear crawled into Shay’s chest. She shot to her feet and back-scooted until the wall hugged her back.
Should I fear him?
she asked the moving tattoo. It did nothing. She didn’t know how to interpret that.
Softly she asked, “Dakar?”
He was across the room and in front of her before she could whisper a startled cry.
The black swirling substance completely clouded the copper of his irises, giving him a feral edge. A fisted knife in his right hand rose toward her. Her heartbeat went triple count.
Oh God, he’s here to kill me.
Anyone who moved that fast wasn’t someone she could outrun. He towered over her, solid as a brick shithouse. Overpowering him was ridiculous.
Trapped.
Endless seconds of rapid breathing stretched between them. He flipped the blade and pushed its handle toward her. In a strangled whisper, he rasped out, “This is our only salvation.” The swirling blackness of his eyes slowed. “But I cannot.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pressed the blade handle into her right palm and wrapped her fingers around its wide grip. He dragged the blade to his chest until its point pressed against his shirt, over his heart. “I have failed us. Please. End this. Take my life. Next time I will try to be stronger.” He placed his free hand against her cheek. “I cannot taste paradise again only to have it ripped away. Not again.” She barely caught his whisper. “I want forever.”
She pulled the knife away from his chest. It thudded onto the hardwood floor. “What is this about? Are you deranged? We’ve never had a last time. You’ve got me seriously confused with someone else.” She edged away from him, but he snagged her arm.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered as she tugged for release.
“We’ve had more last times that you can possibly imagine.” A large hand cradled the back of her head. The other released her arm. Somehow his hand in her hair immobilized her.
He brushed a finger down her cheek. “You are flushed.”
Oh God, his voice. That husky baritone promised a kind of rapture she’d only fantasized about. One deep breath saturated her nostrils with the smell of hardcore male—testosterone, power, and sex.
The soft pad of his finger moved over her lips, which parted. “Are you remembering our kiss? And you want it again.”
Yes. Oh, hell, yes.
His finger moved down her throat and lingered. “Your heart races.” His finger traced lower, teasing the straining tip of her nipple. “You want it all this time. Are you ready for me?” Heated eyes returned to hers. The intensity of his desire squeezed the air from her chest.
Please, yes
, she begged silently.
“Answer me, Shaiani.”
She gripped his forearms—an anchor against the weakness assaulting her legs. He was so big, hard, and broad. Blood poured anticipation through her veins. Anticipation of something she had no plans to allow, not that her body listened. Dampness prepared her sex.
What is wrong with me? He just threatened to kill me and then wanted me to kill him. He’s crazy.
Dakar bent his head down placing his lips on hers and teased a feather-light touch. His heavy arousal was obvious. Lust hit so violently that her entire body cramped. Her core clenched, needing to finish what they’d started earlier. With a swallow, she fought the wave of pulsating need. Those pecks on her mouth weren’t hard enough, raw enough. She didn’t need careful or teasing. She wanted it pounding, hot, and…now. She wanted all the power and edge she instinctually knew he could deliver. Him this in control wasn’t acceptable.
With a groan, she gripped the back of his head and pressed herself tight. Her tongue swept into his mouth. Her teeth nibbled his lower lip and bit. She’d never bitten a man in her life until him. Somehow, she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted him pained and slightly angry.
He growled. What had been tentative and teasing turned hardcore in a second. His kiss went open mouth and thorough. His hands moved everywhere.
Then they were on the bed, his pelvis pressing into hers. She needed to peel the clothes from his spectacular body. Then he’d rip the panties from hers.
Wait!
Her mind screamed. He just threatened to kill me. The guy is not right in the head. But, holy shit. He demonstrated a mastery of her body that was, like the last time, shocking. He knew every button to push. Every right way to stroke. His hand pushed at her wet panties and somehow he knew this time the moment his stroking had her at the cliff’s edge. He stopped.
She moaned and undulated against him delirious with the need to find that denied release.
Gruffly he demanded, “Ask me for it. I know you want it.”
She would see him in hell before she begged.
She glared mutely into his dilated gaze. Several long seconds of silence passed, filled only by their mutual heavy panting.
A smile pricked the corners of his lips. “Gods, you are as spectacular a fighter as ever. I want to be inside you.”
She groaned at the guttural declaration, and wanted him with a desperation that she equated with insanity. But what of the inconsistency within him? He may be turned on sexually, but he had some sort of murder issue. The why of it remained unclear.
He licked the side of her neck. Chills shot down her arms. Hormonal need powered though her. Denial of this release might kill her. Maybe that was his plan.
She croaked out, “No.” And hoped his willpower was strong enough to be the one to apply the brakes on this madness.
He rubbed himself against her core, eliciting a moan of desperate need from her. “You want me to stop?”
She moistened her lips with her tongue, ordering her head to nod a yes, but couldn’t do anything other than stare into his hard, glowing gaze. His brows were down hard, his mouth parted, his coloring high with anticipation. He wanted this.
Dakar asked, “Is the problem him? Christian?”
“He’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Who is he to you?”
“My father.”
“What?” He pushed upward with his full weight on his forearms to gaze down at her. His face blanched ghost white.
“Is it that bad that he’s my father?”
“Well, it is…I cannot find the right English word for it. You as the Charmer’s daughter is inconceivable. I cannot recall that he’s ever been allowed a child even though he beds any female that crosses his path.” His cheeks pinkened. “I am sorry. That is probably not what you want to know about your, uh,…him. Whom did you belong to, then? That pendant means you belonged to someone else.”
“I had a long-term boyfriend. But we didn’t belong together. The pendant was my mother’s.” Shay edged away from him.
He snagged her back. “You could never belong to another.” He placed his hand on her chest against the rapid beat of her heart. “This is mine.”
“I’m not yours.” She recognized the pain of three consecutive painfully failed relationships spurring that declaration. After Troy, she decided to never
belong
to another man again. If she and Dakar got involved, and he dumped her…as intense as her few moments thus far had been with him, she didn’t know if she could survive.
“I am at a loss as to why you cannot remember the past. You usually can. You will have to believe me when I tell you there has never been another woman for me since the moment we met thousands of years ago.”
“Thousands?”
He leaned in and kissed her neck. And then he claimed her lips. She couldn’t deny the addictive taste of him as her tongue darted across his soft lips. He pulled her tight to him. And pressed the desperate hard length of his arousal against her. She pulled the T-shirt off, and ran her hands over the hard tattooed edges of his chest and abdomen. So many scars. Each tattoo looked to have the same mini-hieroglyphics as the new marks on her. Were all of these injuries likewise healed? Mother of God, he’d been hurt a lot, if so.
Her awestruck fingers traced the mysterious and familiar triangle tat on his chest.
Oh my,
his hands were clenching her ass, moving her pelvis against him. The movement turboed simple need into insanity. She moaned and bit her lip to hold back that plea he’d imperiously demanded moments ago.
He whispered, “Let us remove all clothing.”
She wanted it too, but the memory of his failed desire to kill her helped her get a grip. She choked out, “What exactly is supposed to go on between us that involves you killing me and us…” She rolled her pelvis beneath him, smiling at his answering groan. She lifted a hand and pushed a few stray strands of dark hair from his face. She rolled the hair between her fingers, enjoying the texture and taking a moment to concentrate on the streaks. Her eyes glassed up with a bizarre, yet profound, sense of
déjà vu
.