Demon's Kiss Page 6

  “I am indeed content,” Asmodeus said, reading her thoughts again, his voice so low and deep it rumbled through her chest. “More than merely content, mishea.”

  Gabriel smiled. She felt much the same, astonishingly sated, as happy as a cat with a bowl full of cream, despite the circumstances.

  They were suddenly and sharply reminded of where they were with the abrupt change of air pressure inside the chamber. If they had been alone, they no longer were.

  In an instant, Gabriel found herself clothed in what felt like slubbed silk, soft and supple, a simple short, white dress secured with gold pins at each shoulder.

  With Asmodeus’ back toward the rear of the room, hopefully Templeton’s people couldn’t tell he had been healed. That would have raised difficult questions and revealed far too much to Templeton.

  “Get up,” Templeton snapped as he strode into the light.

  Reluctantly Asmodeus obeyed, his hands clenched as he fought both his fury and the reminder of their helplessness.

  His pain was nearly palpable. It radiated from every taut line of his body.

  Gabriel got to her feet as well, surprised to find herself a little dizzy. Or perhaps it might have been the lovemaking. Her muscles still jumped a little.

  Templeton barked to Asmodeus, “Assume human form.”

  Gabriel looked at Asmodeus. He had said he could. She couldn’t help being curious. What would he look like as a human?

  At the moment his teeth were bared in a furious snarl, lips peeled back, the fangs sharp, and she couldn’t blame him.

  Fury was as nothing as a description for what Asmodeus felt.

  He hated it. Hated the confinement, he who had always been free. Hated being subject to another’s will, he who had never been subject to anyone’s will but his own. He hated the loss of his heightened senses in human form, of the restriction of his sight, of the limitations of that body, although he could tolerate it.

  More than anything though, it was changing on command, especially the command of this man, one he truly despised.

  Templeton gestured to his minions and the one by the Book looked at Asmodeus in sharp question as another went to kneel by Asmodeus’ ankle, a key in his hand. It was just another kind of lash. Do as he was told, or he would be driven to his knees by the spells of the Book.

  Rage washed through him. Futile rage. As long as they had the Book, as long as there was iron on him, he was helpless.

  Furious, Asmodeus shook his head. He wouldn’t fight, it was wasted energy but it shamed him.

  “Come,” Templeton commanded as he would to a lap dog.

  Asmodeus fought his rage at being spoken to in such a way. He was all too aware of the darkness of the chamber that surrounded them, of the unseen men who hid in the shadows. Gabriel would be here in this place, alone and outnumbered. There was no choice. They could and would compel him. They had before. It tore at him though, to leave her undefended now that he had suddenly found her, but he had no choice but to obey. Worry nagged at him although he tried not to show it.

  Asmodeus’ reluctance, his fury and frustration, beat at the back of Gabriel’s mind, no matter how much he tried to hide that from Templeton and from her. The tension in his shoulders betrayed his reluctance to leave and she could see the concern in his eyes though he dared not voice it.

  Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. She visualized her training at Quantico, her years with the Bureau, the desperate situations she had found herself in and had survived.

  She could see that it grated on him though, went against his every instinct.

  “Asmodeus,” Templeton said, in warning, with a nod to his man with the Book.

  Teeth gritted, jaw clenched, Asmodeus shifted.

  Even as she watched, his skin changed color from a rich deep scarlet to a dark burnished copper. His perfect features were still incredibly, preternaturally beautiful, but his coloring and features now appeared to be some exotic mix of Caucasian, Asian, African-American and Native American. His cheekbones were still high but his eyes had darkened and had the faintest tilt, his jaw was still defined, still determined, and his long hair still flowed down to his shoulders in a silken ebony stream.

  His wings and tail had disappeared.

  Impotent fury raged in eyes that were now…brown? But they were so dark they might be black. Sparks of gold and red seemed to float within them. That was the only sign of his true nature.

  He wore a tailored, designer suit as if he had been born to it, as if it were a second skin. It somehow emphasized his broad shoulders, trim waist and narrow hips, although the crisp white shirt didn’t quite conceal the broad muscles of his chest.

  Even in human form he was beautiful, so incredibly gorgeous and astonishingly sexy.

  He was still and always Asmodeus.

  “Templeton,” Gabriel said, abruptly.

  The man turned to glare at her.

  Asmodeus’ now-dark eyes glowed with a concern she knew he dared not show outwardly and she wished she could touch him to reassure him, to ease his fear. Already, she felt the lack of him, an emptiness at her side that hadn’t been there before.

  With her gaze on Templeton, she said, “Food? Water? Bathroom? A shower?”

  The rumble in her empty stomach had brought it to mind but she knew they would also have to open that portal to deliver it to her or take her to it. There might be a chance, something—a way to escape, a way to get her and Asmodeus free. If nothing else, she would learn more about where they were being held and what they were up against.

  Templeton’s eyes narrowed.

  “Even a demon won’t want me if I stink,” she said, as she sent a mental apology to Asmodeus. “And if I’m to feed him, I must be fed.”

  Just the thought of putting it that way, of describing the beauty and pleasure of what had passed between them in such harsh terms, made her skin crawl but Templeton wouldn’t understand anything less.

  Asmodeus’ mental touch reassured her that he took no offense.

  With a gesture at his people, Templeton said, “Feed her. See to her needs. Make no mistakes.”

  His men trained their weapons on her. They weren’t going to take any chances. She’d have to do something about that.

  “Asmodeus, come.” Templeton snapped his fingers and Asmodeus fought his rage at once again being summoned like a dog.

  Every muscle tight with protest, Asmodeus did as he was bid. He didn’t dare look back at Gabriel as the doorway opened, knowing the gesture might betray them. He must appear to view her as no more than sustenance or give Templeton that much more power over him, at least until they could find a way to escape or fight their way free.

  If Templeton were to harm her though?

  Something inside Asmodeus went very cold and still at the thought. Then he would indeed become the demon they supposed him to be. That was how his people had earned the name in the first place—when their chosen mates had been taken from them. Those among the women and children who could fight had been slaughtered, those who could not…

  As in the famous painting of The Rape of the Sabine Women, the men had been lured away, their women taken and abused. No one spoke of those who had fought to return to their rightful mates, to those who loved them. They had been murdered for their efforts. Pagans, they were called, because they were different, as if they did not feel, did not care.

  No one ever spoke of the innocents who had died, only of those who had submitted under force.

  History, after all, was written by the victors.

  But Asmodeus remembered, his heart twisting, as did all the Daemonae.

  He and his brothers had hoped and prayed for a time when the Daemonae might be able to return to their rightful plane and take mates once again. Now after millennia, there was Gabriel. And hope for something beyond mere existence.

  Under these circumstances and in this place.

  His throat tightened.

  Asmodeus took a breath of the slightly cleane
r, fresher air as they stepped outside into the modern world with all its myriad changes. He tipped his face up to absorb what little sunshine he could for the brief moments they permitted him to enjoy it.

  Such did not exist on the other plane. The sunlight there was thin, that world sere and barren under a dying sun—hot during the day and bitterly cold at night, as were the deserts of this world, which he had visited in his travels of old.

  This plane had once been their home. Once upon a time his kindred had roamed freely beneath this sky—so nearly the color of Gabriel’s eyes—flying beneath its golden sun, the light beaming warm on their wings. They longed to return to this, their ancestral home. But not like this, not under these conditions.

  If hate were a sword, Templeton would have been dead a thousand times over, cut to shreds with every glance.

  Still, it had been a shock at first to walk out into the sounds and smells of this world he had once known. The sheer cacophony had been overwhelming. His every sense had been assaulted. The air stank appallingly of the effluvium of the vehicles they used. Any place where people gathered in numbers always tended to be noisy and smelly but this was shockingly so. His other senses had been equally violated. There had been too much to see. His people had not ventured into this plane in centuries and even in ancient times they had preferred more bucolic places where they could spread their wings.

  Along with Templeton’s people, Asmodeus got into the waiting vehicle.

  That had been another adjustment, being able to travel as fast as or faster than he could fly.

  * * * * *

  As a group, they toured an aircraft development plant under the guise of a friendly visit. Busy and bustling, it was a place of innovation, of creation. Asmodeus could feel it—energy and life seemed to seep from the pores of those they passed. Folks smiled.

  Not for long.

  Glancing over his shoulder at his minions, Templeton singled out one of them and said, “I want the plans. Find a way. Get them. Or I’ll have Asmodeus turn you to cinders.”

  Asmodeus would not. There were lines he would not cross, did Templeton but know it. Templeton could set the whip to him all he liked but Asmodeus would not kill, not in cold blood. Gabriel or no Gabriel, his true mate or not, he would die first. She would not love him for doing such a thing, even under duress.

  To Asmodeus, Templeton said, “They have a new aircraft. It’s going to experience unforeseen difficulties. Make it happen. George will bring you the plans.”

  He gave Asmodeus a significant glance and then looked away, smiling as he strode to greet the man who approached them.

  Asmodeus shuddered. What Templeton pictured in his mind was horrific. Thousands would die if he did as Templeton ordered and the changes weren’t caught in time.

  Only Templeton would know the planes would fail. While word of the new plane would drive the price of the company’s stock up, he would wait until the first report of a crash, driving the price down, before offering to buy at rock-bottom prices. A simple fix, the error found, and the company could assure everyone its product was safe. The stock would rebound and Templeton would be covered in glory for having saved the company.

  This man was willing to slaughter thousands to line his pockets with gold, but he would call Asmodeus debauched, a villain, evil, simply for being what he was.

  What greater monster was there than one who would sacrifice the lives of others for his own gain?

  For money?

  Chapter Five

  Templeton’s men brought Gabriel the food she’d asked for. It didn’t appear to have been tampered with. Despite her hunger though, Gabriel ate it slowly, taking a few bites and then waiting to see if perhaps Templeton had drugged it. Apparently he hadn’t. The food helped restore some of the strength she had lost to Asmodeus’ feeding.

  Just the memory of that sent a rush of heat through her. Not that she let those who watched see.

  She had already tried to get past the apparently nonexistent barriers surreptitiously, on the pretext of testing to find the limits of them. They definitely existed. They looked like soap bubbles—faint iridescent barriers—except she was on the inside.

  Venturing even a cautious fraction of an inch too close, she sensed something whip out of the shadows of half-seen jungle-like trees. She glimpsed movement from the corner of her eye and quickly stepped back.

  Something flashed by only inches from her face. Something tangible enough to eddy the air as it passed.

  In the outer darkness of the room someone laughed.

  There was a sense of being watched not just from those outside the rings but from something within them, as if her startling trip over them had awakened something within each…and they waited. Hungrily.

  She hid an atavistic shudder. Her skin crawled.

  Knowing Templeton’s people watched, she stretched, bent, paced, and considered Templeton’s words.

  Everything was a weapon, even her body. She would use whatever she had to free herself and Asmodeus.

  Weapons. She felt naked without hers, exposed and helpless. Chewing on her lip, she looked at the firepots. If Asmodeus could conjure those, could he conjure her gun and badge?

  Suppose he could, where would she hide them?

  She couldn’t carry them, the thin silk didn’t hide much. The circle was open on almost every side and there were the watchers.

  The bed was an iron frame, the mattress thin and there were no bedclothes.

  It was something to think about. She’d have to remember to ask him.

  For the moment she’d use what she had—her wits.

  She looked into the darkness.

  “Templeton said I could use the bathroom and the shower,” she said, keeping her voice reserved, distant.

  One of Templeton’s men, clearly the leader of the guards—a tallish man with sharp eyes, his head shaved bald and, by his manner and the way he held his weapon, either ex-military or police and probably a mercenary—stepped up to the edge of the circle.

  She didn’t look at him directly, giving all the appearance of discomfort she didn’t feel.

  “Not so tough now, huh, Agent Nicholas,” he sneered, “without your gun?”

  Actually, for all her lack of height she was pretty tough with or without it, she was a self-defense instructor now and again for the Bureau but she wouldn’t let him know that. It wasn’t time yet. Let him think her weak, broken.

  She didn’t know their numbers, didn’t know their training. Making a move without good information was stupid.

  The man’s nametag identified him as Kyle Baker. She recognized his name from her investigation. Baker was six miles of bad road, a mercenary who hadn’t made it through SEAL training but had been picked up by a security company that was nothing more than a thinly veiled supplier of mercenaries. He’d been with Templeton’s security arm for a year. He’d risen fast but not fast enough. He’d been part of a team sent to Iraq to protect some of Templeton’s interests. Afterward he’d been charged with assault and murder but the charges had eventually been dropped. When Templeton had hired him she’d wondered why he needed a mercenary.

  Now she knew.

  Gabriel pretended to ignore him but she didn’t ignore the danger he presented to her. There were men who entered the military to serve their country and there were those who went in to kick some ass. He was one of the latter, it was there in his eyes. She was fairly certain he wouldn’t push it…yet.

  With a nod to his men to indicate they should keep their weapons on her, Baker made the gesture that opened the door between the rings.

  It was good to know Templeton wasn’t the only one who could do that. That gave her some ideas.

  Unlike her unceremonious entrance, they were far more careful as they passed through that ephemeral tunnel.

  They escorted her to the bathroom but let her use the facility alone, for which she was grateful. The explanation for their lack of concern waited inside.

  Escape was not only extremel
y unlikely, it was impossible, as there were no windows and only the one door. She had the oppressive sense they were deep underground. As the room had probably been intended for Asmodeus’ use, it had very likely been thoroughly vetted for any possible weapons or anything that could be used as one. It seemed oddly unused. Apparently Baker and his men didn’t take advantage of it.

  More than anything though, she wanted to be clean, for herself and for Asmodeus, for when he touched her, ate her, fed from her, made love to her.

  As much as she loved making love to him though and loved the scent of him on her skin—and just the thought of him had her aching—she would be glad to be clean. Just the feel of the hot water as it ran over her skin felt wonderful.

  After the shower she pulled on the light silk dress he had conjured for her out of thin air, fingering it in mild disbelief. Magic. As beautiful as it was, it was also all she had to wear for the moment.

  On their return, from the corners of her eyes, Gabriel noted the small signs as the guards relaxed their attentiveness. Her diffidence eased their alertness. That she hadn’t tried to escape was another indication to them that she was beaten. Having seen Asmodeus, the sheer size of him, and knowing him to be a demon, they would wonder what had happened behind the smoke and their speculations only confirmed their assessment of her. She wasn’t a threat.

  She noted how many men Baker had that she could see and their positions. It was useful information.

  It seemed as though hours went by but having no watch there was no way for her to gauge the time that passed.

  Gabriel knew the moment that Asmodeus returned to the building, sensing him nearby somehow. Elation filled her and surprised her. Or perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, considering he was her only ally here.

  She let out a sigh of intense relief all the same but she was careful not to let Templeton’s men see.

  Asmodeus was back and safe.

  In the back of her mind, she knew it was more than relief she felt, that it was more than just a common bond. Much more. To her astonishment, her breasts felt tight, her nipples and pussy ached. Every inch of her body seemed to sing in response to his immediate presence, to his need. His hunger for her was nearly palpable with each step closer to her.