The Order Boxed Set (5 page)

“Tara.”

“What?”

“You could be in danger.”

She stalked from the building. Outside, she gazed about for a moment then headed for the alley opposite—the quickest way to the train station. She hesitated at the entrance; the alley was narrow, the streetlights penetrating only a few feet, and beyond that, utter darkness.

Of course she wasn’t in danger. Of course she hadn’t been brought up by a dead woman. Of course there wasn’t something really scary waiting for her down this alley.

And if there was, all she could say was—it had better watch out.

Chapter Four

“Well that went well,” Christian murmured.

What the hell had happened to keeping his hands off her?

Though it wasn’t his hands that were the problem. He hadn’t been able to resist that one fleeting kiss, and she tasted as good as he’d expected. A delicious combination of bitter and sweet he’d never encountered before. If he had put his hands on her he probably would have dragged her back in here and not let her out again until sunrise.

But she didn’t want that. She wanted “normal,” and he was about as far from normal as it was possible to get.

Perhaps he should have kept the information about Kathy Collins to himself. He had considered that option, but was worried. Tara was obviously human—it came off her in waves—so why would she have an undead guardian? And why had the undead guardian up and died? Presumably, the spell giving her life had run out of power. But who had brought Kathryn Collins back to life in the first place and why?

There had to be a good reason, because magic like that never came cheap. Someone had paid a high price to protect Tara. And if she didn’t find out why she needed safeguarding, her chances of a normal life were remote.

Part of him liked the idea of protecting her, but he knew nothing good could come of bringing her into his world however much he might crave it. A wave of bitterness washed over him. It had been more than five hundred years since his wife and two daughters had been slaughtered in a demon attack. Christian had nearly died himself. The Order had offered him a chance to get his revenge. Since that night, he’d embraced the darkness wholeheartedly. For centuries, he’d fought demons, slaughtered demons, feasted on their immortal blood.

Until one sunset, he’d risen from his sleep to realize he no longer wanted that life. Or rather death.

He’d turned his back on
t
he Order and tried to make a place for himself in the world of humans. But now he was bored, and he wanted more. He wanted Tara Collins. Maybe just one small taste and afterward, he would sort out whatever mess she was in, and send her on her way unaware how close she had come to the darkness.

His cell phone rang. It was Piers. “What?” Christian growled.

Piers chuckled. “Bad moment? Is your balance sheet not adding up?”

“What do you want?”

“Are you aware that there’s a lot of demon activity going on tonight?”

“So, send someone after them.”

“Aren’t you interested where?”

Christian sighed. “Get to the point, Piers.”

“They’re right outside your building. Again.”

“What?”

“I thought that might wake you up. I can send out agents, but I thought you might want to take a look.”

Demons shouldn’t even be able to pick up the fact that he was here. He’d paid a very expensive warlock a whole load of money to have the place warded, to make himself invisible.

“I’m on to it,” he said.

“Let me know what you find.”

Christian slipped the phone into his pants pocket, a flame of excitement burning in his belly. If he couldn’t have sex with the delectable Tara Collins, fighting demons had to be the next best thing.

He went to the cupboard at the back of his office and pulled on a shoulder holster. After selecting a semi-automatic pistol, he made sure it was loaded and shoved it into the holster. He strapped a knife sheath at his waist, tied it down to his thigh, and slotted in the eight inch serrated blade. He covered the whole lot with a long, black leather coat.

Avoiding reception, he slipped out the back way. The door opened into an alley that ran along the rear of the building, and he stood in the dim light and scented the air.

There it was, the faint tang of sulfur. He inhaled deeply to determine which direction it was strongest. He set off down the alley, emerged onto the main street, and he glanced around. Another alley cut across the street opposite. Some instinct made him the peer into the darkness.

Far up ahead he could make out a figure hurrying in the opposite direction: Black coat, small and a bright head of blond hair. Christian recognized her immediately.

Had she no common sense? Even if she didn’t believe in “ghosties and ghoulies,” there were plenty of human scavengers who loitered in dark alleys, just waiting for people naive enough to venture down them.

He hustled after her, keeping to the shadows. He would make sure she reached her train station, and then he would go demon hunting. But as the darkness crowded around him, the strong odor of sulfur filled his nostrils.

Up ahead, Tara slowed until she came to a halt at least twenty feet from the end of the alley.

Keep moving,
he urged, silently. She could still come out of this unharmed if she reached the main street—nothing would follow her there. It took him mere seconds to realize why she had stopped. A demon blocked her path. From a distance, it appeared almost human, only the dusky red skin identified it as something from the Abyss. That and the rank odor that intensified as Christian moved closer. The demon appeared oblivious to him, all its concentration on Tara. Christian drew his knife; he could take the thing down before it touched her.

A second demon slithered down the wall to Tara’s right. Christian went still. His knife was raised and ready to throw, but he glanced between the two, unsure which presented the greater threat. While he hesitated, the second demon leapt for Tara. It landed catlike on her shoulders, and she crashed to the ground under the weight. Her head cracked as it hit the concrete, and she lay unmoving, the demon crouched on her chest.

A wild fury roared through Christian and he reacted without thinking. All his muscles tensed, and he flew the last few feet landing close beside them. His free hand gripped the demon’s tangled hair; he ripped it away from Tara and flung it against the wall. It clambered to its feet, a low hiss emerging from the narrow, skinless lips. Up ahead the first demon drew closer, and from behind him came the unmistakable scent of a third.

He cast Tara a quick glance. Lying on her side, her hair covering her face, she appeared unconscious, but Christian could see no visible damage.

“Give us the woman, and you may go.”

The first demon spoke. All three stood, side by side. Why weren’t they running? They seemed unafraid, but had to know they were no match for a vampire.

“Let us have the woman, and you can go on your way, Christian Roth.”

Christian frowned. “What do you want with her?”

“A little fun.” The demon licked its lips. “A little food.”

Adrenaline coursed through his system and his excitement rose. It had been years since he’d had a good fight. One of these lesser demons would have been a miserable waste of time, but three might give him a good workout. He held the knife loose in his hand and waited for them to make a move.

Two of them attacked without warning. Christian braced his legs and stood his ground. At the last moment, he raised the knife and impaled one through the throat. He pushed it away, wrenching the blade free, and the second was on him, grappling, its sharp pointed teeth snapping at his face. It latched onto his shoulder, slicing through the leather of his coat and sinking its fangs deep into his flesh.

The demon was incredibly strong, and too late he remembered Ella’s comment that lesser demons were borrowing power from something stronger.

Ignoring the pain, Christian brought his free hand up, took hold of its throat, and ripped it away. His shoulder tore as the teeth remained locked into the muscle. Then he was free. He tightened his hold on the creature’s neck, and the bones snapped under his fingers. Tossing the body from him, he spun to face the third demon. His shoulder was on fire and blood ran down his arm. He needed to finish this before he weakened.

The last demon circled him warily. It sniffed the air, muscles tensing, and Christian realized it was poised to run. He hurled the knife, taking the demon straight through the heart.

For a moment, he stood panting. Nothing moved, and he crouched beside the body. The demon was dead. He dragged his knife free and used it to sever the head with one hard downward stroke. The scent of warm blood rose up and he swayed toward it, then forced himself back. They were dead—too late to feed now. He worked quickly, cutting off the other two demons’ heads and watching them disintegrate into a pile of greasy gray ashes.

He rolled Tara onto her back and skimmed his hands over her. She moaned but didn’t regain consciousness. Her face was pale, except for a dark bruise blossoming on her forehead. Rising to his feet, Christian swayed and rested his hand against the wall for balance. He was losing blood fast.

He needed to get Tara away, but there was no way he could carry her back. Besides, the streets were busy, and they’d hardly be inconspicuous. He pulled out his phone to call Graham, but at that moment a black SUV appeared at the head of the alley. The driver’s door opened, and Piers grinned at Christian.

“Shame about the coat,” he said. “Need a lift?”

…

Tara snuggled down. The pillow felt so cozy, soft as down, and silky smooth against her cheek. A dull ache throbbed at her temple, but as long as she didn’t move too much it was bearable. She had no idea where she was, but she was definitely not in the alley, and that had to be a good thing. She thought about opening her eyes, but decided to put it off a little longer.

There were other people around. Muted voices, the rustle of clothing, but it all seemed far away. The last thing she remembered was that thing in front of her. It had come out of nowhere dressed in dark pants and a jacket with the hood pulled low over its face. At first, she’d thought it was a mugger or rapist, and she’d prepared to fight for her life.

It had come closer, sniffing the air, and a disgusting stench filled her nostrils—dirty smoke and rotten eggs. The hood had fallen back from its face and she’d gotten her first clear glimpse of her attacker.

It was red.

Not pink, but dark red. With yellow eyes.

She’d decided defending herself wasn’t the good idea it had seemed a moment ago. No, running had seemed a much better option. Until something hit her from behind.

After that—nothing.

Oh God, perhaps she was in the lair of the red thing. She hoped not.

Opening one eye a fraction, she peered out through her lashes. The first thing she saw was Christian. A half-naked Christian. He still had his black pants on, but had stripped to the waist, and Tara had never seen anything quite so beautiful. His shoulders were broad, his hips lean, and the bits in between all ridged with muscle. His skin was pale, perfect with a light sprinkling of dark hair between his nipples and down his almost concave belly to disappear into the low-slung waistband. Midnight black hair hung loose around his shoulders, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

“Graham?” Christian spoke softly, and the young man came into view. He seated himself on the end of the bed not far from Tara. He didn’t even seem to notice her, simply sat, his hands in his lap, a small smile on his face. Tara had the feeling she was watching something private. That she should sit up. Tell them she was awake. Get out of there before it was too late.

Instead, she lay still as stone, hardly breathing, and watched.

Christian came up behind Graham and laid a hand on his dark red hair. He stroked his fingers through it, and tugged the head back, baring the long line of his throat. He moved in closer, rested one knee on the bed and pulled Graham back against his body, wrapping his arms around the other man’s chest. Lowering his head, he licked at the throat, then his lips drew back exposing a huge pair of fangs he sank into Graham’s neck.

Tara must have made a small noise because someone moved beside her. She dragged her gaze from the two men. A third man sat in a chair, his long legs resting on the edge of the bed. She recognized him as the blond rock star lookalike who’d been waiting for the elevator two days ago.

He smiled at her.

“Christian,” he said. “Your guest is awake.”

Christian didn’t release his hold on Graham but he went still. His gaze caught hers, and held her trapped for long minutes. Then he closed his eyes and continued feeding.

Because that’s what he was doing.

He was feeding.

Drinking blood.

Tara forced her mind to accept what she saw. Maybe he was just pretending. Or maybe he was insane, as she had told him earlier, some sort of supernatural wannabe, with a pair of stick-on fangs. But if he was pretending, he was doing an excellent job. She could see him swallowing as the blood flowed down his throat. Graham’s face was blank, almost dreamy, his lips parted. He wasn’t struggling; in fact, his whole body seemed to be straining upward. It was the most erotic thing she had ever seen, and a strange lightness filled her mind while her body grew hot and heavy.

She heard a low, masculine chuckle from beside her, and she forced her gaze back to the blond.

“It looks good, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “So very, very good.” His voice was low, husky, his eyes heavy-lidded, and he was staring at her greedily. “It’s certainly making me hungry.”

He grinned at her, flashing a pair of fangs that she hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes widened. She scrambled into a sitting position and pulled herself as far from him as she could. He chuckled again and reached a hand toward her.