Beast of Fire -- a Demon Hunting Sexy Romance Read online

  "What is it, Lucan?” she whispered. “What is it that you aren’t telling me?”

  His lashes lowered and he said nothing. The charge in the air, the intensity of emotions, spiked. Frightened for him, she stepped forward.

  His eyes snapped open. “No,” he said abruptly, seeming to recoil against the door without moving. And then his voice softened somewhat, a plea hidden in the gruffness of desperation. “Not safe. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She didn’t know what to do. “They promised me you wouldn’t be in pain.”

  "I need to be …” He grimaced. “Alone.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

  “You have to.” His eyes collided with hers, dark, shadowed. “Please.”

  Her stomach clenched painfully with that plea, but she backed away. A sense of relief seemed to wash over him as he tilted his head back against the wall, his eyes shut. She turned away, unable to see him like this without going to him. Upset that she seemed to somehow be the cause of what was happening to him.

  She walked to her room with hurried footsteps. Entered the bedroom, flipped on the overhead light, quickly shut the door behind her. Dim light filtered through the room with only one of the three bulbs working. She slid down the door's wooden surface and stared at the empty, white wall and the sparsely furnished room. Just a bed. A dresser. A nightstand. And her. Alone. Lucan was alone, too. A door separating them that felt like a world.

  She didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know how to help Lucan. She’d come to save him. The struggle he was enduring outside that door said she wasn’t helping, though; it said she was causing him more pain. And she could not escape the foreboding sense that everything was not as it should be, that she had boarded a wild ride on a collision course to hell. And unless she figured out how to get off, she was taking Lucan with her.

  ***

  Nick watched as two of his followers disposed of the Seer's body in a Dumpster not far from the club. The Seer and her curses had not bothered Nick. He’d spent too much time in Hell to be bothered by anything on earth. And it turned out he’d had good reason to dismiss the ninny of a woman. The Seer had been a mere human. Who’d have thought? All that fear over a mere human. A gun with a silencer had laid her out flat in the alley behind the club. Here he’d thought it would simply stun her, keep her from using her powers. Instead it had killed her outright. All that fear from his wolves, for nothing. The Seer was like Cullen, hyped to be more than she really was. Soon the wolf pack would all know Cullen for the worthless figurehead that he truly was.

  The cell phone on his belt vibrated, and he reached for it, ripped it from the holder and punched a button. Read the text. Cursed. The goddamn Hunter had gotten away. It took every bit of restraint he had not to throw the fucking phone against the Dumpster.

  Another curse and he rotated on his heels, marched toward the club, fury biting away at his nerve endings as his legs ate a path to his destination. He could feel Alex and several other wolves on his heels, cautiously following.

  He charged toward the back door of the club, where several wolves stood on guard. Jess appeared in the doorway, his shoulders hunched, acid pain etched in his features. Apparently, the firestarter had lit him up. Good, Nick thought. He needed to feel some pain. He should have been smarter. Should have attacked when she was nowhere near. Idiot.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded still several steps away from Jess. He stopped in front of him, smacked his face, open-palmed–an insult in the worst way in the wolf pack. Jess's head jerked with the impact. Nick continued, “What. The. Hell. Happened?” He slapped the other cheek. “Killing the Hunter would have earned trust with Cullen. Trust we need to destroy him, you fool.”

  Jess slowly straightened, first his neck and then his spine, drawing to his full height. A white line appeared on his thin, top lip. “We can use the Hunter against her,” he said hoarsely. “She proved she will fight for him. I had him followed. He’s at her apartment. Proof they are close. You can bribe her into helping you. Leverage the Hunter’s safety for her aid. Make her fight for us.”

  An onslaught of possibilities rushed through Nick’s mind. Use the Firestarter. Use her to get the ring. Yes. He liked it. His lips twitched, an evil smile forming. “I’ll let you live, after all,” he said to Jess. “If you capture the Hunter. Try not to screw it up again.”

  He eyed Alexander, who had taken a position as one of the guards at the back door. “Come with me.” Nick allowed his gaze to slip back to Jess’s. “He’ll take your place by my side until you prove you deserve it.”

  ***

  Cullen sat in a private corner of Club Macundo, a cigar bar he frequented. With a fine leather, wingback chair framing his tired muscles, he sipped a fine brandy and puffed a 1961 Monte Cristo Cuban. He’d learned to enjoy the human world and encouraged his pack to do the same. By embracing this world, and the pleasures it had to offer, the wolves found reasons to protect it. Reasons to embrace humanity rather than destroy it.

  A waiter attired in a tux appeared beside Cullen and extended a silver tray. A white envelope with a silver seal sat on top. “A message has arrived, sir.”

  Cullen took one last puff of his cigar before setting it aside, then leaned forward in his chair, and studied the oversized envelope. He detached the seal and removed the single card. It was embossed with a sun–"the light of unity," as the new supernatural council had called it. The council was a way to bring the beings of earth together. They'd planned to start with New York and spread the membership outward, across the world. They'd wished him to play a critical role, the wolves being one of the largest nonhuman populations on the earth while still managing to maintain the secrecy of their existence.

  Cullen’s lips thinned at the memories of that first meeting. He had reservations about the council, reservations about trusting so many he did not know. But the council provided contact with all the different beings that roamed this planet, which made it an exceptional resource on many fronts, a source of knowledge. A way to know his potential enemies, a way to align himself with those who might be true allies.

  Cullen unfolded the card and read the urgent message. Read it again. He leaned back in his chair, shell-shocked with the impact of the words. The council claimed to have confirmed his suspicions. Adrian had targeted the wolves and ordered Cullen’s death in hopes of destroying the pack. With the wolves' stronghold within the human realm destroyed, Adrian would infiltrate humanity in rapid form. The note had also included an update on the Hunter. His identity had not been discovered, but the council was working on that.

  Cullen tapped the card on the desk. The Hunter and the Firestarter might be likely candidates as his assassins, yet . . . something about their actions did not add up. The Hunter had lingered in the city for months, killing only rebel wolves. The Firestarter . . . well, he’d looked her in the eyes. She knew what his ring was, knew what it was capable of doing. But she was not a killer. Something didn’t add up. He had to consider the option that he was being double-crossed in more ways than one, that the rebels were consorting with Adrian. And even if this was not the case, there were any number of ways he could think of that he might be exposed at the moment. He was left unable to trust his own.

  Cullen reached for the cigar and puffed, savoring the flavor as he considered his options. Realizing he had few. Thoughtfully, he replaced the cigar on the tray and flagged a waiter, acquiring a pen.

  After a moment of consideration, he began writing on the card, requesting a special meeting. It was time to take a stand. It was time to fight back. Note completed, Cullen replaced the card in the envelope, resealed it, and flagged the waiter again. He sank back against the soft leather chair and let it absorb his weight, satisfied with his plan. He reached for his drink, swirled the amber liquid in the glass. He’d had enough of the rebel wolves. And as for Adrian – well, Adrian and his assassins would soon discover that he was not so easy to kill.

&n
bsp; Chapter Nine

  Hours after his confrontation with Kresley, Lucan’s instincts had suddenly gone on alert. He could sense danger, sense the wolves were near, knew they watched, knew they waited to make a move. As much as he hoped to keep his distance from Kresley until he fully had his beast under control, Lucan had no option but to go to her, to warn her, and to take action to ensure her safety.

  He stood outside of Kresley’s closed bedroom door. He inhaled a heavy breath and reached out to the door. His palm rested on the wooden surface. He told himself to knock. But he didn’t knock. Finally, his beast had calmed just enough for him to think straight, enough for him to begin to process the implications of the darkness Kresley had stirred within him. He did not want to hurt her, only to protect her.

  Now he feared the worst – that the Guardians had been suppressing the beast within him, that he was not free of his inner beast at all. Freedom from the Guardians would only release it, would ensure he would be consumed by it. He could not be saved. Kresley could never know of their bond. She would think herself his salvation, yet he could not help but imagine the worst of nightmares – that without the Guardians there to restrain his beast, he would kill her, rather than mark her as his mate.

  He told himself it wasn’t true, that he could control his beast, that he had done so for three hundred years. He would not fail to control it when the life of his mate was on the line. But had he really been in control of his beast? When he’d take this deal to trade himself, he’d already feared it was too late for him, already feared the beast was too dark, too powerful to be controlled. He'd already feared that he’d found his mate only to be her destroyer. He could not be that to her.

  So, he’d take the path of certainty, never to face her with his own weakness, never to face the beast again. But he had faced it this night, and he had faced the choices he’d made, and they did not sit well. He had been strong for three hundred years, yet he had failed that night he’d made the deal with the Guardians. He’d failed to be strong enough to see other options. He’d run. Run from the possibility that he was like the others who had been devoured by their own beast. Run from being weak – and in the end – running itself had been weak. He’d been weak. Weakness he could not escape, as it had consumed his existence–and he agonized, Kresley’s as well. Had he saved her or doomed her to a life of guilt and self-doubt? Had he been so afraid of failing her that he had ensured exactly what he'd feared–failure. And in doing so had failed himself and the Knights as well.

  Suddenly, the door opened, and his hand fell away from the wooden surface. Kresley stood there, her hair in disarray, a white silk robe clinging to her soft curves. The shadows of a dimly lit room inviting sultry images of her in bed, of him with her.

  His gaze snapped to her face, their eyes colliding midair, the sizzle of instant awareness crackling between them.

  “Hi.” Her soft-spoken word held a hint of shyness.

  That innocent quality was something that had drawn him to her from the day he'd met her. A quality that her life circumstances would have killed in most – but not her. Not Kresley. “Did I wake you?”

  She shoved a lock of hair behind her ear and hugged herself. “I wasn’t sleeping. I . ..sensed you were at the door. I do that,” she hesitated. “I sense things now.” Her gift didn’t give him pause, not considering her firestarting and her angelic bloodline. Many of the mates possessed special talents.

  He thought of the edginess he’d been feeling, the tingling of warning. “You feel it too, then.” It wasn’t a question.

  Her teeth worried her bottom lip a moment. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Like someone is watching us.”

  Exactly what he felt. “I’m going to scout around the area.” He hoped to sneak out of the building unnoticed. “You have a fire escape in your room, right?”

  She pulled open the door and motioned to her right. “Yes. I hate that thing. I’ve been sitting here watching the window.”

  Lucan hesitated, steeled himself for the impact of walking into her tiny bedroom, of being so near her. With a discreetly inhaled breath, he entered the room, his gaze sweeping her bed, the covers still neatly in place, a sword lying on top.

  “The Knights taught me how to use a sword,” she commented.

  He cut her a sideways look, relieved she had ways beyond her fire of defending herself, yet upset by the way he’d left her to fend for herself. “You should have told me how nervous you were feeling,” he said, hating that she’d been sitting there staring at the window with a sword in hand.

  She laughed, an uncomfortable sound. "I figured if worse came to worst, I’d set the place on fire and we’d escape.”

  Guilt vibrated within him. She could have come to him but hadn't. He’d set her away from him, giving her a feeling of alienation.

  “I’m sorry, Kresley,” he said, emotion welling in his chest. “I’ve been nothing but a bastard to you since you arrived.” And it wasn’t his nature to yell and demand, but then, he hadn’t been this terrified of failing in three hundred years. Not since he failed to save his family. He started to speak, stopped. Hesitated another second. “I need to know you're safe.”

  Hurt flashed in her eyes, and she cut her gaze away. He had no idea what he had said wrong, but clearly something.

  “I get that,” she said, the force of a dismissive shrug behind the statement. Kresley walked to the bed and kneeled beside it, reaching beneath the frame. She yanked a suitcase from beneath the bed frame and sat back on her heels, flipped the latches, opening the top to display an array of swords. “You might want some of these when you go out scouting.”

  He kneeled beside the suitcase, gave the weapons a quick inspection, and then turned his attention to her. “Kresley–"

  Her gaze riveted to his as she cut him off. “I know you want to protect me,” she said. “But I don’t want to be coddled. I came here to fight and I plan to.”

  He rotated around to face her, one knee resting on the wooden floor, the other serving as an armrest, one booted foot propped up. “What is so damn wrong about someone taking care of you?”

  She cut her gaze, as if composing herself. She sidestepped the question. “Because you can’t. Trying will only get you hurt. And I hate it, since I was used against you. Adrian never intended to let me go. He tricked you and he tricked me. He knew I’d never let you suffer because of me. He knew I’d come for you, and when I did, he used your freedom as a bargaining chip to get the ring. This was always about my firestarting. Always about that ring. And that scares me. He wants that ring in a bad way. It can’t be about one Demon. It just can’t be.”

  A sound outside the window set them both on edge, gazes flying to the fire escape. “Meow.” They both let out a breath as a black cat appeared by the window.

  Kresley pushed to her feet, hand on her chest and Lucan followed. “Good grief,” she said, “I’m on edge. I need to get dressed. I don’t know why I tried to sleep. That was insane. I need to be ready if anything happens."

  She walked away, leaving him staring after her, his feet planted solidly on the ground. More and more, it was becoming clear that his simple solution to ensuring Kresley’s safety, of trading himself for Kresley with the Guardians, had been no solution at all. She was right. Adrian had manipulated them both. Lucan had been been trying to protect her. Instead, he’d invited her deeper inside the Underworld, deeper into the darkness of a world of evil and manipulation. And this time, he had no idea how to free her.

  ***

  Lucan held a position in the shadows of the fire escape one floor below Kresley’s apartment, his hand locked on the Knights' sword that Kresley had given him. He ran his hand over the sword handle where a five-pointed star was etched, symbolic of the Knights.

  A year had passed since he’d touched a sword such as this one; the memories that came with it were a bittersweet pill to swallow. The Knights had given him a reason to keep going; they had provided the purpose that had delivered him from the pain that l
osing his family had brought. A purpose he’d left behind to secure Kresley’s safety, and because he'd hoped Kresley would do more good in the world than he could.

  Since then, in the past year, he’d charged into battle, expecting death, wishing it would come. He'd boldly marched into Demon-infested areas and issued challenges, knowing full well he was outnumbered. But in battle, the will inside him to destroy evil always won, and he'd survived each confrontation – the eternal hell of serving the Guardians had just begun.

  The only thing holding Lucan back from another bold charge this night was Kresley. Now he had her to consider. Endangering himself needlessly was simply not an option until he knew she was free of the Guardians.

  Nothing was simple any longer. Nothing was easy. It was complicated. Facing his choices and what they had done to Kresley was far more painful than simply accepted the hell of his choice. Facing Kresley had forced him to face himself, rather than those choices. He was not pleased with what he was finding. Not proud one bit. Sad. Lonely. Weak. That was what he saw in himself. Weakness wrapped in the mockery of honor.

  His gaze shifted as movement on the other fire escape, directly across from him, took a shadowy form. Bingo. Another wolf. He’d been waiting for that one to show himself. He'd counted three wolves so far, sensed this fourth one, but hadn’t placed him until this moment.

  Lucan squatted, silently inching along the metal frame beneath him, and shifted his weight from one foot to the next as he found the edge of the landing. Cautious to remain silent, he latched a booted foot into the stairwell and began his descent to the pavement three flights below. When he settled on the ground, he stilled, his attention locking on the shadowy figure on the distant fire escape. Suddenly, the shadow appeared to split, becoming two. Someone appeared to be sneaking up on the wolf. Lucan blinked, refocused.

  Suddenly, the wolf crumpled against the railing; a larger, shadowed figure stood above the wolf for several seconds and then simply vanished.