The Darkest Pleasure (17 page)

The numbness encasing her began to melt, leaving flickers of relief. “I’d rather leave tonight,” she said. “Aeron knows where they are. Make him tell.”

“I tried. Twice. But do you really want to continually remind him that they’re out there? When he craves their deaths? Torin can do this, I have no doubt. He just needs time.”

She clasped his wrist and peered up at him, wanting to kiss him and push him away at the same time. To hug him and hit him. “Thank you.”

“You are so lovely,” he whispered. Then he shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe he’d uttered those words and needed to clear his thoughts. “In the cell you said you paint to purge yourself of your nightmares. Why don’t you paint tonight? Perhaps it will soothe you.”

Do not soften. You are already too close to the edge.
“You just want another glimpse inside my head.”

“Can I not want both your comfort
and
the knowledge you possess of the gods?”

She released him, feeling bereft, and shrugged. “I would need the proper supplies.” There was a bloom of excitement in her chest at the thought of holding a brush. She’d never thought to paint again.

Twin pink circles suddenly colored Reyes’s cheeks, and he cleared his throat. He straightened, looking away from her. “I—I already have everything you will need.”

Danika studied his profile. His nose was a shade longer than the other warriors’, very aristocratic. His lashes were thick and curled up toward his brows. His jaw jutted stubbornly. “What do you mean?”

“I visited your home. I had your purse, your address, and after you left, I could not stay away. I traveled to your home, saw your supplies and bought some for the fortress. Just in case.” The admission croaked from him. “Will you use them?”

Just in case what? “I—Maybe.” He’d been inside her home? What had he thought of her small and cluttered house? Loved? Hated? And why did the image of him surrounded by her things feel so…right?

Reyes didn’t try to pressure her. He simply nodded as if he understood her reluctance. “I need to leave for a little while, talk with Torin. Will you be all right on your own?”

She wasn’t sure she would be all right ever again, but she said, “Yes. Of course.”

Reyes faced her, leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Hers parted automatically, welcoming him inside. The hot length of his tongue pressed forward, slowly, tenderly, giving comfort rather than passion. She accepted, too raw to resist.

“Angel,” he breathed.

Her arms wound around his neck of their own accord, holding him close. Perhaps she would hold on forever. Here, right now, there was no pain or loss or what if, only a strong man who scared
her
demons away.

His fingers settled on her waist, and he pulled her as close to him as he could get her. Her legs parted to allow him the final contact, placing hardness to softness. A gasp left her as a jolt of pure desire speared her, chasing away her fatigue.

She remembered how he’d kissed her this morning and experienced no real pleasure. Until she’d hurt him. He’d even told her that he could not really
feel
without a sting, a bite or a scratch.

Even though this kiss represented the passing of his strength to her, she wanted him to like it. She told herself she wanted him to like it so that he would continue to protect her. That if the time came, he would choose her over Aeron and slay the man. She told herself it was because if Reyes desired her, he would not renege on his word. He would take her to her family in the morning.

Sadly, she knew she lied.

Deep down, she wanted him, desired him madly, and had from the first. She’d been a captive here and had found herself face-to-face with him after he stormed into the room she’d been locked in, demanding a healer for Ashlyn. It had seemed
as though a match were being struck inside her chest, lighting everything on fire. Burning and blistering. Every man she’d ever dated, every man she’d ever kissed, and the two men she’d slept with over the years had faded from her mind as if they’d never existed.

So odd. Besides her dreams and her secret paintings, she’d never been a fanciful girl. Oh, she believed in love—her parents might have divorced when she was just starting her teens, and her dad might have taken off and begun another family, forgetting the one he already had, but she did believe. Her grandparents had loved each other madly, only parting for death.

And while Danika had never experienced the emotion herself, she’d always been content to wait, not to rush out and force it as so many of her friends had done. She had lived as if there would always be a tomorrow, as if the here and now were of no significance. As if the future meant more than the present.

Everything had changed after the kidnapping. Her entire world had crumbled and as she’d slowly rebuilt the pieces of her life, she’d realized a future was
not
guaranteed. Here and now mattered. Nothing else.

Right now, she had Reyes.

She would have to hurt him to make him like her. Before, watching him cut himself, she hadn’t thought herself capable of such a deed. Now…“I want to,” she said, only realizing she’d spoken aloud when the words echoed in her ears.

He nipped at her bottom lip. “What? What do you want?” His fingers tightened on her hips, digging into the bone.

“You.” She had trouble catching her breath.

The fine lines around his eyes softened. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, angel.”

“Show me, then.”

“No.” He meshed their lips back together and his tongue rolled over and under hers, his addicting flavor a drug to her starved senses.

How long since she’d been held like this? How long since she’d stopped running and simply
experienced?

“We have to stop soon.”

“What?” Her arms tightened around him. “No!”

“Must.” His fingers wrapped around her wrists, gripping firmly, branding her. He moved her arms away from his body, and then he dared to release her.

Her eyelids flickered open. He was sweating, his lips compressed in a thin slash. His breathing was uneven. Lines of tension bracketed his beautiful dark eyes—eyes alive with a thousand different needs, needs he would not allow her to meet.

He wanted her this time, it seemed, but she hadn’t hurt him. He’d said such a thing was impossible. What did that mean?

“You don’t need a man pawing you right now.” One step, two, he backed away.

She flattened her palms against her thighs, nails digging deep. “You weren’t pawing me.”

“But I wanted to.”

Would she have cared? Surprisingly, she didn’t think so. He’d given her hope, hated hope, but she was grateful. Or had his demon overtaken her mind again?

Reaching out, he smoothed several strands of hair from her brow. His arm shook. “Rest, angel. Tomorrow we travel, and we will have to move quickly and remain in the shadows.”

Because of the Hunters,
she silently finished for him. The people she should have been helping. Feeling hollow, she nodded.

“If you change your mind about painting, the supplies are through that door.” He pointed.

She sighed, watching as he turned on his booted heels and strode from the room. There was a knife in his hand.

W
HEN
R
EYES REACHED
the bathroom in the empty bedroom across the hall, he collapsed onto the cold, hard floor. He’d done his best to keep his beast hidden from Danika. He hadn’t
wanted her to know how close he’d been to ripping off her clothing and stabbing himself over and over again while he pounded into her soft body—how close he’d been to begging
her
to stab him.

He was surprised by the depths of his desire for her. She hadn’t hurt him, yet he’d been ready, eager. A first, and too shocking to believe.

He needed to contact Lucien and tell him about the other demons, the other possessed warriors. He needed to find Torin and have the warrior start tracking Danika’s mother, sister and possibly her grandmother. But not like this. Reyes was too on edge, the demon too loud inside his head, clamoring for pain. The need hadn’t been this wild in weeks, so it had taken him by surprise. How he’d maintained his control, how he’d kept from hurting Danika, he didn’t know. Why it had happened, he didn’t know, either.

With a shaky hand, he tore at the waist of his pants. His nails were claws and cut the skin, skin on fire and too tight for his bones. He was smiling as his cock jumped free, but there was no relief. He ached, oh, gods, he ached from the pleasure of Danika’s scent, her lovely eyes feasting on him, her lips pressing against his.

His fingers wrapped around the thick base of his shaft, so taut his knuckles instantly blanched, and he hissed in a breath.
Not my hand,
he pretended,
but Danika’s.
Yes, he could easily imagine her soft, sweet hand holding him, squeezing him to this razor edge of pleasure-pain.

Reyes moaned, holding himself all the tighter as he pumped up, then down. With his other hand, he clutched the knife he’d already palmed and pressed the cold tip against his thigh.
Do it. Cut.
On an upward glide, he sank the blade hard, so hard. The skin broke and blood trickled. On a downward slide, he dug the tip deeper, nicking a vein.

Not enough. Not nearly enough.

There were sharp grooves on the hilt, and those grooves bit at his hand, drawing even more blood. Self-loathing rose inside him as he slicked the knife’s apex through muscle, not stopping until he hit the bone.

Why can I not be normal? Why can I not take a beautiful woman with the gentleness she deserves?

He twisted his wrist, digging a hole into his femur. His head fell back and he roared at the exquisite headiness, pleasure zooming from one corner of his body to the other, a drug, a demon all its own.

Just a little more
.

Up and down he continued to pump, the path slick because of his blood. His hips writhed as he continued to twist the knife. There was another sharp lance of pain, another sultry wave of pleasure.

What if he had no need for pain? What if Danika were here, sucking him deep into her mouth?

“Yes, yes,” he chanted. Her sunshine hair would spill over his legs; perhaps he would see the pink tip of her tongue laving the thick head of his penis. He might feel the light scrape of her teeth every time she descended, taking him to the back of her throat.

Would she like the taste of him?

Maybe she would take him in her mouth while he licked and sucked
her.
Another moan escaped him. She would be wet, wet for him and him alone. Her taste would be like the ambrosia he blended into his wine.

She would drip with desire.
For me, only me.

For us,
the demon snapped, raging inside his mind.

Reyes clenched his teeth.
For me. Never us
. You
are the reason I cannot have her.

I
didn’t open the box, now did I?

Reyes gave the knife yet another twist, and the tip sliced the bone in two, driving straight into another muscle. At the mo
ment of penetration, a climax ripped through him. He roared loud and long, his muscles contracting, hot seed jetting from him and blending with his blood. Both scalded his skin, like battery acid on silk.

Only when the last surge ended did he lose his last bit of strength and sag, completely depleted. His arms fell to his sides, lifeless. He was panting, could taste metal in his mouth. During orgasm, he’d bitten the inside of his cheek.

Can’t stay here. Have to clean up before someone finds me.
Slowly his eyelids cracked open, golden light seeping into his consciousness. He needed to find Torin and—His thoughts skidded to a sickened halt.

Danika stood in the bathroom’s doorway, staring down at him in horror.

D
ANIKA DIDN’T KNOW HOW
to assimilate what she’d just witnessed.
That
was what Reyes needed to experience pleasure? Before, part of her had thought she could maybe give him what he craved. But he hadn’t just cut skin. He’d cut veins, muscle and even bone. There was so much blood, a seemingly never-ending river pooling and congealing around him.

Now he was looking at her through hooded eyes, lips grim, a crimson splatter on his chin. “What are you doing here?” Cold, no emotion.

“I fo-followed you,” she managed to get out. “I—I—” She was shaking so badly, and her throat kept trying to close around a surge of bile.

Had other women hurt him like this? Pleasured him like that? The thought disturbed her, but not as it should have. She didn’t like the thought of other women meeting his needs. She didn’t like the thought of other women doing something to him that she had not done—or perhaps could not do.

Reyes lumbered to his feet, swayed. His thigh gushed. She thought she saw the severed bone underneath the muscle and couldn’t glance away. Her gaze was held captive and tracked every drop that spilled. His penis rose proudly, still thick and full, smeared with desire and blood, the heavy weight of his testicles drawn tight underneath.

Even possessed as he was by the demon of Pain, she didn’t understand how he could find release in so brutal a deed.

“Look at me,” he barked.

“I am.” A broken whisper.

“At my face.” He jerked up his pants and fastened them.

The action released her from the trancelike state. Gradually she dragged her gaze up his body. His navel was surrounded by the faintest dusting of hair—how had she missed it before?—and his stomach was roped with hard lines of muscle, a testament to his inhuman strength.

Her tremors increased the closer she got to his face. A shadow beard dusted his jaw, hardening the angles of his face, making him appear all the more dangerous.

He was scowling at her, his lips peeled back from his teeth. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “I told you to stay in my room.”

His eyes, normally polished onyx, were tinted red. Glowing. Pulsing. She gulped. “I couldn’t, I didn’t—”

“Go!”

“Don’t talk to me like that. Got it?”

“Leave. Please.” A whisper.

As he stood there, panting, angry, bloody as if he’d just returned from a war, she lost her…whatever it was she’d been feeling. Disgust? Confusion? Shock?
I want to paint him like this,
she thought. He was a thing of beauty. Dark, a combination of cinnamon and honey, with eyes like an eclipsed sun—a person didn’t know whether to stare, blind to all else, or look quickly away.

What intrigued her most, however, was his tattoo. That butterfly, with its wings spread in midflight, half consuming his chest and neck, seemed to be watching her, beckoning her closer. It had always been ominous and harsh, almost evil, and yet it now appeared…gentle. The colored skin was glittering, a mix of ruby, onyx and sapphire. The usually sharp-tipped, forged-of-steel wings were somehow softened.

I’ve seen this before,
she thought.
I’ve
painted
this before.
Hadn’t she? There was something unerringly familiar about it, though not enough to jog her mind completely. Maybe it was the fact that she’d seen a few of the other warriors’ tattoos. Each man had worn the mark in a different location and each had been a different color. Maddox was branded on his back, Lucien on his chest. Aeron, she thought with a shudder, all over.

Danika found herself reaching out, arm shaking, desperate to feel Reyes’s brand, to know the texture and the temperature. Hot and raised? Or cold and smooth?

He jolted backward, slamming into the wall, his arms spread to hold himself up. The sink jostled, the soap slipping and falling to the floor.
Thump.
“Do not touch me, Danika.”

Her cheeks heated with mortification as her hand dropped to her side. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”
You knew better
.
He’s feral right now, so you have to be careful.

“Don’t apologize.” Motions clipped, he swiped a towel from beside the sink and bent down. Back and forth he mopped the blood. “
I
am sorry you witnessed that. Please, just…return to my room. Please. I will join you shortly.” The request was disjointed, proving how rattled he really was.

“I’ll help you clean up. I—”

“No!”

He shouted so loudly, she cringed. Damn it! Where was her courage? Where was her vow to never back down from another fight?

Immediately after the echo quieted, Reyes stiffened, ceased moving and rushed out, “I
am
sorry. Again. You did nothing wrong, only offered to help. But I always clean up my mess, and I will not allow you to dirty your precious hands.”

Precious? Her? There wasn’t a drop of sarcasm in his tone, only absolute sincerity.

He pivoted, keeping his back to her as he skidded into motion. “Please, Danika. Go.”

He was embarrassed by what he’d done, she realized. He
was ashamed. She didn’t know what to say to soothe him. Didn’t know what to
think
to soothe herself.

Danika backed out of the bathroom. She didn’t look away from Reyes, who was still cleaning, still avoiding her, until her shoulder rammed into the door frame and she had no other choice. When she reached the hallway, she pressed herself against the wall. Tremors racked her.

She wanted to find Ashlyn, discuss this with someone who just might be able to understand, but her friend had left with Maddox and the others early this morning. Ashlyn had conversations to listen to, she’d said, and it had surprised Danika that the ever-protective Maddox had agreed to the journey. Should she go back as Reyes had ordered? Or stay and wait for him? Both appealed to her, but for different reasons. Leaving would give her time to calm down, to think. Staying would provide an opportunity to go with Reyes when he spoke with Torin about her family.

Admit it. You’re worried about Reyes. You
want
to see him again.

She stayed.

Fifteen minutes passed, the sounds of shuffling feet, running water and curses filling her ears. Strangely, impatience kept its distance as her mind rolled and churned like a storm about to break.

She had some major decisions to make.

She was due to contact Stefano later tonight and the tiny cell phone he’d given her was burning a hole in her pocket. What would he do if she failed to call? What did she want him to do? With Reyes seeing to her every need, things were…complicated.

Oh, she still wanted revenge. If she discovered that Aeron truly had killed her grandmother, she would return to his cell and she would not hesitate to cut off his head. But what if he hadn’t killed Grandma Mallory?

Don’t you dare give up hope.
Reyes’s voice whispered through her mind, even though they both knew how evil hope could be.

Could she allow the Hunters to storm into his home, capture the residents, hurt them, lock them away and ultimately slaughter them? Reyes would not be excluded from that. They wanted him, hated him. And she would not be able to warn him because he would warn the others—which totally defeated the goal of keeping Reyes intact, the only true decision she’d made.

She’d thought herself in deep. Now…What should she do? She felt torn between two sides, straddling a fence with no freaking clue as to which way to fall. Something would happen and she’d lean one way. Then something else would happen and she’d lean the other.

“Danika.”

At the sound of Reyes’s voice, she blinked open her eyelids. When had she closed them? He loomed in front of her, this warrior who so conflicted her. He’d cleaned himself up, had seemingly scrubbed away his emotions as surely as he’d scrubbed away the blood. His expression was blank, and yet her heart fluttered as it always did when he was near.

“You waited,” he said.

If that pleased or angered him, she couldn’t tell. “Yes,” she said, breathing deeply of his fresh pine scent. He wore a black T-shirt and new pants. “I’d like to go with you to speak with Torin.”

His head tilted to the side, his gaze boring into her. “You are not…scared of me?”

“No.” Truth. She was just more confused than ever.

A sigh slipped from him, and beneath the casual resonance was a rushing river of relief. “I find I am once again helpless against you.”

As helpless as she was against him? “I don’t understand this.” Not the connection between them, and not their mutual unwillingness to hurt each other when they were both supposed to do so.

“Neither do I.” He held out his hand. “I will take you to see
Torin, but you are not to touch him. You are not even to get within reaching distance of him.”

“O-kay.”

“This is serious. Do you remember the plague that blasted through Buda when you were here?”

She nodded, twining their fingers together. At first contact, warmth speared her.

“One brush of his skin against yours and there will be another one.”

R
EYES LOVED THE FEEL
of his fingers intertwined with Danika’s. Every time she’d been alone and he’d come upon her, touched her, her skin had been as cold as ice. Seconds after touching her, that ice always melted into him, a deliciously painful prickling.

Painful.

He tried not to think about what Danika had witnessed. The thoughts flowed, anyway. What a monster he must have appeared, taking pleasure in so gory an act. Had he cried out her name? He could not be certain.

He rounded a corner, wanting to look back at her but not allowing himself to do so. She had seen him at his worst, but she hadn’t run screaming. He took what little comfort he could in that. Having seen her shocked expression, however, he’d known—he knew—soul-deep that he could never bring Pain into their relationship. Which meant he could not make love to her. Ever.
You already knew that.

He thought perhaps he’d subconsciously entertained a ray of hope that one day he
could
make Danika his, totally and completely, without worrying that he would hurt her, need her to hurt him or that she would become a killer afterward. Foolish hope. Hated hope. Truly a demon.

It’s for the best,
he assured himself. His angel deserved only goodness. She deserved a gentle man, someone who would
make her laugh. Someone who would not fill her with disgust. With herself, with him.

Just like that, jealousy awoke inside him, a beast far more ferocious than Pain, screaming inside his head, scratching at his skull.

“You’re squeezing my hand,” Danika said on a pained gasp.

Instantly he relaxed his grip. “I am sorry.” Would he ever be able to let her go?

“I’m tougher than you think,” she said. “I’d just rather not face one of your friends with my bitch-slap hand broken.”

She meant the words as a joke, probably hoping to lighten his mood, but he took them to heart. Here, in the fortress, she needed every ounce of her strength. His friends were a threat to her well-being, and she would never be welcomed as Ashlyn and Anya ultimately had been. Fighting to bury a swell of emotions, he lifted her palm and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist. “I will be more careful with you, I swear it.”

A shiver moved through her.

They reached the end of the hall and stopped. Torin’s door was closed. Muffled voices carried through the wood. Laughing voices? Reyes’s brows drew together as he knocked. The voices ceased abruptly.

Cameo opened the door and Reyes was momentarily rendered speechless with shock. Beautiful as always, petite and dark headed and a vicious warrior only a rare few had been privileged enough to witness in battle—and live to tell the tale—she usually remained alone or in the shadows while at the fortress. Not by choice, he thought, but because the men could not be around her without wanting to kill her. She carried all of the world’s misery in her silver eyes and tormented voice.

He’d never heard her laugh before, had never seen her smile. Or not since those long-ago days before they’d opened
dimOu
niak.
That he’d now witnessed both here, and with Torin, who could not touch another living thing skin to skin—even an immortal—was shocking. Torin usually avoided women like the very plague he harbored inside his deceptively healthy-looking body. He could not have one, so did not usually tempt himself with the presence of one.

What the hell was going on?

“What do you want?” Cameo asked.

Dear gods, the agony. Listening to her was like sinking into a nightmare.

“Why am I suddenly eyeing the hilt of your dagger and hoping to plunge it into my chest?” Danika whispered, confused and a little dazed as she gazed at the female warrior.

To his knowledge, she had not crossed paths with the female warrior last time she’d been here. Which meant this was her first encounter with Misery. The first was always the hardest. “Cover your ears and close your eyes.”

For once, she didn’t question him and rushed to obey.

“I need to speak with Torin,” he told Cameo.

She propped her hip against the door frame. “Well, you can come back later. I was here first. This your woman?”

“Yes,” he said, adding without pause, “
You
can come back later.” He had to glance away. His chest was hurting, and not in a good way. Was a…romance brewing between Cameo and Torin? Stranger things had happened, he supposed. Like Danika, staying here with him when she could have run again.

“She’s pretty.”

Exquisite, if you asked him. “Leave, and I will give you the black dagger you admired. The one hanging on my bedroom wall.”

Anticipation instantly showered her features. Damn, he’d been looking at her again. The ache returned to his chest. He rubbed the spot just above his heart as Cameo flicked a glance over her shoulder, paused, then faced him once more.

“Fine. I’ll go,” she said, and stepped around him. As she disappeared down the hall, she called, “But I’m coming back in a few, so make it quick.”