Sweet Ruin (7 page)

His eyes narrowed. “I have to keep a rein on myself. I’m half demon/half fey, a dark fey through and through”—he pulled his hair back to reveal his pointed ear—“and if I lose control, I might harm partners.”

Though true, he was in no danger of losing control.
There’s nothing within me to bridle. No fire to contain.

In any case, he’d learned to restrain himself for other reasons as well. He’d realized at an early age that the power dynamic shifted between bedmates when one surrendered to the throes.

Power was everything during fucking.

“You really can’t kiss?” she asked. “I heard them say you’re poisonous.”

He shrugged, as if this limitation were trifling. “To all but my own kind.” His first kill had been with a lethal kiss.

Reminded of his past, he gritted his fangs and shoved this female’s hand to his dick. “Anything you think you might miss? I’d make up for it with size.”

She gave him a light squeeze, then withdrew her hand—as if she’d deigned to
acknowledge
his cock, and only because he’d been gauche enough to put it out there. Her disdain could put the old fey queen’s to shame.

“Some cavemen carry big sticks. Doesn’t mean I want to get clubbed with one.”

Inner shake. “I have other tricks in my bag.” He was good with his hands. Once he retracted his poisonous claws, he could use his fingers to get a purr out of her. “Meet me back in the courtyard at midnight, and I’ll make you see stars.” He cast her his grin, awaiting the reaction he always garnered.

The wench covered a yawn.

His grin faded.

“I might meet you,” she said, “if you agreed to talk with me over coffee.”

As a prelude to sex? What the hells could he discuss with her, a woman he planned to bed? He got tunnel-visioned at that point.

She added, “I’m not a big coffee drinker myself, but isn’t that what people do?”

Her desire to talk must be a ploy of some kind. Otherwise, this would mean a female wanted something of him . . .
other than sex
? No, that made zero sense. “What would we discuss?” He laid his palm against the wall over her head. “You’ll tell me your truth, and I’ll tell you a lie?”

A shadow crossed her face. “All my truths are lies.”

Curiosity flooded him. Bloody fascinating female. He reached forward to brush her hair over her shoulder. Her little ear was blessedly rounded on top. Two small rings decorated the helix, highlighting the perfect curve.

He bit back a groan. To a male like him, that couldn’t be sexier. He wanted to kiss her ears, nuzzle and nip them. “Look at those piercings. Any hidden ones on your body?”

“Yes.” A single word. Succinct. No additional explanation.

Just enough to send his imagination into overdrive. His claws dug into the brick wall. “If I meet you, I’ll seduce you to do more than talk.”

She exhaled as if she’d reached the end of her patience with him. Which, again, made zero sense. Rune elicited many responses from females: lust, possessiveness, obsession. Never
exasperation
.

“You’ve gotta be satisfied after four babes.”

“Those nymphs were a warm-up. I’m called Rune the Insatiable for a reason. I’m never satisfied,” he told her honestly, as if this were a good thing. He jested with his compatriots, but in reality, his existence could get exhausting. Always seeking the next conquest, the next secret . . .

He’d considered hibernating after this Accession.

Then he’d remembered he would need at least five hundred years to savor his victories.

He leaned down to rasp at her lovely ear, “Maybe you’ll be the one to sate me at last.” If it hadn’t happened in millennia, he didn’t expect it to now, but tarts ate that line up. He dangled the prospect because Lore females liked challenges.

This one pressed her hot palms to his chest, digging in her black nails. “You wanna know a truth?” She held his gaze. Her eyes were mesmerizing, her hazel irises flecked with brilliant blue and amber.

Finally they were getting somewhere! “I do.”

In a breathy whisper, she said, “Maybe I wouldn’t give a good goddamn if you were sated or not.”

Sexiest voice.
Bitchy
words. “What
are
you?”

“You really don’t know?”

He shook his head, but she was already looking past him, her interest turned off in an instant.

“I’m done here.” She patted his chest, then sidled under his arm. “Later, Rune.”

“Wait, I didn’t catch your name.”

She walked backward, flashing him a dazzling smile. “Because I didn’t toss it, sport. Only good boys get rewards.” She pivoted to saunter away from him.

His lips parted in disbelief as she strutted down the street. She turned every head, leaving mortal males agog. Rune’s muscles tensed to pursue her, but he ruthlessly quelled the urge.

He’d become the master of his impulses. For the first hellish centuries of his life, his body and his mind had been commanded by another.

No longer.

But the damage had been done. He’d grown so detached during his early abuse that he’d felt like two separate beings.
And one was dead.

Rune had stifled the fire within himself for so long, he’d extinguished it. And yet his heart thundered in his ears as he watched his voyeur melt into the crowd.

SIX

J
o could still feel Rune’s gaze on her back, so she kept up her casual pace down the street.

She’d just met another freak! Had talked to one!

But even he hadn’t known what she was. So she’d ended her encounter with the womanizing
dark fey
, the dogged one obsessed with sex. He truly would have lined her up like those others, making Jo fifth of the night (if not more).

Now that she knew what to look for, she would find other paranormal-type people, more
knowledgeable
ones.

Despite his arrogance, she burned to glance back. Were all male freaks that conceited? Were they all so seductive?

The more she’d talked with him, the more attractive he’d grown. She’d watched that calm, steady pulse point of his beating faster and faster as they’d bantered. And she’d dug the hints of tattoos peeking up from his collar and the ancient-looking silver bands he wore on most of his fingers. When he’d lifted his hair to reveal one slightly pointed ear (which was badass), she’d seen that the sides of his head were partially shaved (also badass).

And, good God, that man could wear leather. His powerful, lean legs had stretched his pants just right, as had his huge cock—which he’d put her freaking hand on! The temptation to keep rubbing it had almost won out.

Even if she hadn’t witnessed him in action, she’d deem his look:
bad-boy lady-killer with a big, swinging dick
.

His grin had been so sexy she’d had to cover her gasp with a feigned yawn.

Yet more than just his appearance attracted her. Beneath the smell of sex and
nymphs
, his innate scent was irresistible. Like leather and evergreen.

After one hit of that, she’d had the urge to kiss him, despite his poison. She could’ve reached up and fisted his cool hair, yanking him down to kiss until her fangs sliced his tongue.

Whoa.
Sharing blood through a kiss? Stutter-step. She’d never fantasized about that before. Her fangs had always remained dormant during hook-ups.

Damn, that image was filthy hot. Instant wettie.

She needed to get hold of herself. Just as her emotions could make her embody, she could accidentally ghost as well, and Rune might still be watching her.

The lady-killer had wanted to know her name. He’d wanted to screw her, lining her up and knocking her down like the nymphs. He’d wanted a connection to her, however brief.

She’d craved a connection too.

So she’d stolen the contents of his pocket, one rectangular object. When she turned the corner, she opened her palm, peeking at her take. It was some kind of etched bone.

How weird. He must value it for some reason. Not as good as the “priceless” bow she’d eyed, but she’d have to make do.

Would he notice his empty pocket soon? She grinned. How pissed would he be that a
dove
had rolled him?

Her grin faded. Aside from her name and her body, he’d wanted her
truth.

I could contact my little brother at any time, barging into his can’t-possibly-get-better life, and he’d welcome me with open arms. No damage done to my boy at all. For now, I’m fine. I’m not slowly dying of loneliness. I don’t fear I’ll float away. I don’t regret that no one will even know I’m gone.

Her truths
were
all lies.

She reached for her necklace.
You can never go back for him.

Never. Never. Never.

So why did she continue to look for excuses to do just that?

She was antsy, not ready to return “home” to her dingy room at the Big Easy Sleeps motel (known to regulars as the Big Sleazy Weeps).

She needed a hit of her favorite drug. Just a little one. Her eyes darted. Suppliers. She needed suppliers—

There! A middle-aged couple strolling hand-in-hand.

Perfect. She ghosted into the woman, relaxing to flow with her. Boneless. Effortless. Like floating in water.

Jo imagined she could feel the man’s rough hand, the warmth coming off his body. She pretended she was the one he loved.

The two walked along in silence, but the vibes between them weren’t awkward or strained, just . . . peaceful.

She inwardly sighed. People took the wonder of hand holding for granted.

Down by the river, the couple sat on a bench. Stars twinkled above, a half moon low over the water. Strains of jazz carried on the breeze.

The man took his hand away.
No—

Only to wrap his arm around his woman. He tugged her close.
Bliss.
They murmured in a foreign language, but Jo didn’t need to understand it. Whatever he said made the woman rest her head on his shoulder, as she’d probably done a thousand times before. They leaned back and gazed at the stars.

Jo’s past was a mystery, and she sometimes sensed the stars held the answers. She loved to stargaze. Well, she did for the first ten or so minutes. Then the realization of her friendlessness would steal over her. Stargazing for one had to be the loneliest hobby.

Now she had company. This couple.

For what might have been hours, they remained like that, lost in their own little world as a mist rolled in from the Mississippi.

No one had ever cherished Jo. No parents, no boyfriend. All on her own, she’d discovered how much she craved this: an unbreakable bond between two people.

Love and a future she could count on.

She was a killer with blood on her hands, but she wanted to give her heart away. As these two had. They were partners, two halves of a greater whole. Jo yearned for her other half with all the desperation of someone who’d always known something was missing.

She soaked up the feelings between these two like a sponge. Maybe she was a love junkie.

Yet pretending wasn’t as good as the real thing.

Recalling the warmth of Rune’s body affected her. When she imagined sharing a blood kiss with him, she feared she’d solidify inside the woman, killing her. She swiftly disentangled.

As Jo looked on, the woman shivered, so her man drew her closer.

Jo sighed. If she had someone real of her own, he would hold her like that. He’d own her heart, and that would anchor her to him.

He’d never let her float away.

SEVEN

E
xpectancy.

As Rune hunted for Nïx along the most decadent street in the town of New Orleans, anticipation thrummed inside him, seeming to grow like the thickening fog.

Why? He was on a routine mission, one among thousands.

For hours he’d searched, questioning low creatures and staring down alphas of other species.

Maybe he craved a fight. He hadn’t been raised as a frontline warrior, but he’d come to enjoy a good battle with his fellow Møriør.

They warred seamlessly together. Sian would charge into the fray to massacre troops with his mighty battle-ax. Blace would use his great-sword and unmatched skill to behead waves of warriors.