The Order Boxed Set (98 page)

Was it?

She hadn’t asked Carl to come after her. And maybe the demons were after him, not her. Or maybe they were just random thugs, and this was pure coincidence. Yeah. How likely was that? Besides, from their appearance, she guessed they were soldiers, though she’d never seen them before. And it made no sense for Asmodai to send demons to bring her back—not when he’d already sent Carl.

She tried to leave, but somehow she couldn’t complete the movement, and the growl rose again.

Whoever they were, they would kill him.

But if she went back, they would likely kill her as well. Or worse.

Oh God.

She couldn’t bear the idea of all that strength and power obliterated. She couldn’t do
nothing
, even if it meant her own death.

With a shake of her body, she shifted again, felt herself grow. The power swelled in her limbs, and the world took on a crimson haze. She threw back her head and howled to the moon. Then she leaped toward the fighting group.

She’d never been in a fight, rarely shifted into her hellhound form, having learned from an early age that it wasn’t the best of ways to make friends. Now a sense of freedom filled her as she made a giant leap and hurled herself into the first demon, her jaws snapping closed on the flesh of his shoulder, her mouth filling with the sweet, metallic taste of blood. She tossed him away and looked for the next.

Except the fight had stopped.

Carl lay crumpled on the sand, not moving, but the demons were backing away. One studied her for a moment and then gave a small nod. “Princess,” he murmured. Then he made some sort of gesture to the others, and, in a flash, they all vanished. Not even a puff of smoke left behind.

Princess? What in the freaking Abyss had that been about? Mistaken identity?

They could easily have killed her and Carl both. But time to worry later. She glanced down the beach. The altercation had been silent except for her one howl, and people would take that for a dog. She hoped.

Shifting to human form, she dropped to her knees beside Carl, touched a finger to his throat. A faint pulse throbbed beneath her fingertip. All the adrenaline seeped from her system, and her shoulders sagged, her head bowed.

She’d accepted death, and now had to come back from that dark place. It was strange—she’d believed she would die at the end of her month of freedom, but now she realized she hadn’t really accepted or understood that. It was one thing to die in the heat of a fight, another to just accept death and let it happen, when you knew you could stop it. For the first time she acknowledged that perhaps she wasn’t ready to die. But neither was she ready to go back to that old life. Or a new one that was worse.

She sat back on her heels and stared at the unconscious man. Without thinking, her hand came out and, she traced a finger over his lips. The upper lip was narrow, but the lower had a sensual curve and was soft, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he would kiss.

Never going to happen
.

She should get out of there before he woke up, but somehow couldn’t make herself move. Instead she continued her exploration—she’d never had the opportunity to touch another person like this, and she was fascinated by the different textures.

She skimmed a fingertip over his eyelashes then his cheekbones, where the skin was rough and shadowed with growth. Peering lower, she gasped. His shirt was dark and had hidden the blood, but when she looked closer, it was clear he was badly injured. Werewolves were tough, but demon wounds could be dodgy things to heal.

Could she leave him here? What if the demons came back? What if he bled to death?

He moaned.

She couldn’t leave anyone in pain. Anything could happen to him.

God, she was pathetic. Why not just admit it? She wanted to take him home with her. She didn’t want this to end. And maybe, after she’d saved his life, he would owe her and wouldn’t force her to go back. Perhaps he’d even help her, maybe put in a good word for her with Asmodai.

She rested a trembling hand on his shoulder, the material sticky with blood, and gave him a little shake.

“Carl.”

She held her breath, but there was no response, and no way could she carry him. Maybe in her hellhound form she could drag him, but that would be a little conspicuous. She gritted her teeth and shook him again.

He groaned, and his lashes fluttered open. “What the fuck?”

She released the air in her lungs with a huge sigh.
Thank God
. “You’re hurt,” she said.

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I came back, and they…vanished.”

His gaze met hers. “You came back? I told you to run.”

He’d wanted to save her, and warmth spread through her at the thought. Her lips curved in a faint smile. “I don’t always do what I’m told.”

“Well, it was fucking stupid…but thank you. Who the hell were those things?”

“Soldiers I think, but I don’t know whose. Whoever they are, they might be back, so we need to get away from here.”

He placed his palms on the sand and tried to push up. After a second, he collapsed again. His eyes flickered shut, and her chest tightened.

After what seemed an age, he opened them. “Shit. I need to shift. But I need to be somewhere safe first. This badly damaged, I’ll go into a healing sleep, and I don’t want to be out in the open.”

“Then you’d better get up. My place is only ten minutes along the beach. You can make it. I’ll help you.”

“You’re a real softie aren’t you, kitten? Behind that bitch facade.”

She scowled. “I could still leave you.”

“But you won’t.” He gave her such a sexy smile that she melted, but then she stiffened her backbone. “You need to get up, and we need to get away from here.” She pushed herself up and held out a hand. He slid his palm into hers and tightened his fingers. His expression hardened, and he gritted his teeth. She pulled, and he managed to stumble to his feet. For a second he leaned on her, his face in the curve where her shoulder met her neck so his breath whispered against her skin. Then he straightened but didn’t release his hold, his free hand curving around her shoulder. While she was tall, he was taller, but she somehow managed to keep him upright as they staggered along the beach. He didn’t speak, and when she glanced at his face, his mouth was twisted in a grimace of pain.

He lost consciousness about a minute from her place. Searching inside herself, she found a strength she hadn’t known she possessed and somehow managed to manhandle him the last fifty feet.

She almost sobbed with relief as she dropped him to the sand and pushed open the gate that led into the grounds of the small villa she’d rented. She turned around, grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him inside and up the short pathway. It occurred to her that she shouldn’t be able to do this. Shifters in their human form did not possess extra strength, but she pushed the thought aside. Another thing she would think about later. Along with everything else.

Resting his limp body against the wall, she pulled the keycard from her pocket and opened the door. Then she heaved him inside, kicking the door closed behind her. She took him into the bedroom, but couldn’t manage to lift him onto the double bed. Instead she dropped him to the floor and sank down onto the mattress behind her.

She scrubbed at her face, found it damp. She was crying. Just the stress of the night. And the relief of getting to relative safety.

But before she could relax, she needed to wake him so he could shift and heal. She shook his shoulder, but nothing happened. In the bathroom, she ran a cloth under the cold water, came back and knelt beside him. As she stroked the cool towel over his forehead, his eyes fluttered open.

“We’re safe,” she murmured.

“Shit. I fainted. Werewolves don’t fucking faint.”

“Not fainted. Passed out. I think you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Yeah.” He looked up into her face, and his lips curled into a slight smile. “You think you can undress me, kitten?”

Her eyes widened at his words and the smile grew. Then he grimaced. “Much as I’d love to play the stranger from your fantasies, right now I don’t think there’s enough blood left in my body to be much good to you.”

“Oh.”

“It’s easier to shift if we strip first.”

“Really? That must be inconvenient.” Shifters didn’t need to do that—whatever they wore changed with them. A sure sign that shifters were superior to werewolves.

“Yeah.”

She swallowed. She could do this. Scooting down his body, she started at the bottom, unlacing his boots and tugging them off, tossing them across the room, then his socks. Her heart was racing as she moved back up and tugged his blood-soaked T-shirt over his chest. He pushed himself up slightly and she hauled it over his head and added it to the growing pile. His skin was golden, his chest broad and crisscrossed with angry wounds, still seeping fresh blood.

Just his jeans now, and she licked her lips as she contemplated her next move.

“Never undressed a man before?” he teased. When she didn’t answer, his eyes widened. “You’re shitting me?”

She still didn’t answer. His skin was chalky, she needed to move, and this was no time to act the shy virgin. Anyway, she wasn’t shy—it was impossible to grow up shy in a demon household. That she was still a virgin was her own choice—it had seemed one way she could actually be in control of her life. Or maybe it was that she’d been waiting for her dream lover, her fairy-tale prince to turn up and whisk her off her virginal feet.

Either way, she was pathetic.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned over him and fumbled with his belt buckle, finally managing to get it open. Her fingers moved to the buttons on his fly. She flicked open one, then the next until they were all undone.

Moving to his feet, she grasped the denim at his ankles and pulled. His underwear came off with his jeans, leaving him naked. Even bloody and beaten he was gorgeous, long and lean, the muscles clearly delineated under his skin. She couldn’t resist a quick peek at his groin. Limp against the black curls at the base of his belly, he appeared curiously vulnerable, and she forced her gaze up to his face.

“Thank you.” But his eyes were already turning feral, glowing green-gold.

She nodded once and backed away. The magic built in the air around them, rippled through her, then he changed. Unlike her own shift, it wasn’t immediate. Instead, sable fur sprouted from his skin, claws from his fingertips. His bones elongated and snapped, his back arched, and he was gone. A huge black-furred wolf lay on her bedroom floor.

She reached out a hand, and he licked her palm then rested his head on the tiled floor, closed his eyes, and slept.

Chapter Four

He was back in human form when he awoke. Carl stretched; his body felt good, strong, and fully recovered, though it had taken time. Inside he could feel the faint hum of magic, which told him tonight the moon would be full. He must have slept for two days.

His stomach rumbled—another sign he’d been out for a while.

But he was alive, and he’d thought for a while that this time it was over.

Shera had saved him. He had no doubt about that. He had a vague memory of a huge crimson-eyed hound-like creature hurling itself into the mass of demons attacking him. He’d heard of hellhound shifters; it was a phenomenon that struck seemingly at random. Hell, he’d met one once—seriously scary, and one more thing Ash hadn’t revealed about Shera.

But even in hellhound form, no way could she fight off that many demons. They should both be dead.

She had come back to help him, knowing it meant almost certain death.

He owed her his life.

Shit, that complicated things.

But he’d never meant her any harm, just to take her back. She was obviously not safe out here alone. She had no clue how to survive. Except she’d managed before he turned up, and then she had somehow also managed to save them both.

Maybe it was time to call Ash again, see what else the bastard wasn’t telling him, and find out whether there was any way to get past the power of the sigil and give Shera her freedom.

His thoughts were interrupted by the slam of a door. He sat up, looking around for his clothes but then caught the sharp, sweet smell of cat shifter, and relaxed. She’d kept him safe while he healed. She could have run while he was unconscious, but instead she had stayed.

She opened the door and came to an abrupt halt. “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

She chewed on her lower lip and shifted from foot to foot, then started to back away.

“Wait,” he said.

She was dressed in a short cotton shift dress in yellow and orange, her skin was tanned to a pale gold, and her green eyes gleamed. She’d tied her hair up on top of her head, leaving her slender neck bare. She was all long limbs, probably the tallest woman he knew, maybe five eleven. Her feet were bare and her toes curled in to the tiled floor.

“Is there anything to eat?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’ll get you something. After that, I’m leaving.” Her eyes hardened. “You owe me. Just let me go. What’s it to anyone if I don’t go back?” She shook her head. “I don’t even know why they sent you after me.”

Er…demon gold, sigil, hellhound, alcohol….

Carl wasn’t sure which, if any, of the reasons to tell her, and while he was deciding, she whirled around and left the room, leaving him staring at the open door and still trying to work out what to say to her.

She’d been brought up virtually a slave in a land of demons; he could understand why she didn’t want to go back. A shudder ran through him. He couldn’t think of anything worse than being bound to someone, let alone a demon. But maybe there was a way around the sigil.

But whatever happened, he certainly couldn’t allow her to go with her pockets filled with demon gold. Could that be what those demons had been after that night? Had they traced her as he had and planned to take the gold for themselves? But if that was the case, why hadn’t they followed through.

It was doing his head in.

But first thing, just in case everything went to crap and she vanished—he had to warn her about the gold. Because he was 100 percent sure she didn’t know what she’d done.