I'll Be Slaying You(25)

“Simon.”

He pinned her with his stare. “You wanted this.”

A grim nod. Her pupils were too big. Her eyes so dark. Almost like a vampire’s. Almost.

He caught her right leg. Curved his fingers around the flesh and stroked upward. No breaks in the skin. No tears. No blood.

Her skin was so silken and soft. As he touched her, his heart slammed into his ribs. Simon pressed a kiss against her thigh. Can’t help it.

A soft rasp came from Dee.

His fingers stilled around her knee. “If I find something, what are you gonna do?”

Her lips parted.

The question had to be asked. Had to be. His fingers rose.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll get as far away from those bastards as I can.”

Good. The more distance, the less control they’d have. A lesson he knew well.

“Did you find something?” She whispered and there was a quaver of fear in that husky voice.

“Not yet.” He caught her left leg. Stroked her calf, worked up her leg and curved his fingers over her thigh. “I don’t think they touched you.”

They wouldn’t have dared. Not if they were following orders, and he suspected that there were definite orders out for Dee.

They’d jerked her around. Had their fun.

Break her, but don’t taste. Not yet.

An old order he’d once heard a vampire give. Sick bastard.

He left his hand on her thigh. Such smooth skin. Such strong muscle beneath the silk.

His teeth ground together. Only one more place to check, and she’d already told him that sweet spot was off limits. “You’re clear,” he gritted and shoved back.

Dee blinked at him. Then her gaze dropped, fell to his crotch, to the bulging hard-on he knew there was no hope of hiding.

Not like he wanted to hide the thing anyway. He wanted Dee. He’d have her. But not when she was still spinning from an attack.

He stepped back, giving her some room, and yanked off his shirt. Simon stared at those breasts. Want them in my mouth. Her scent surrounded him. That deep, rich scent that was Dee.

His cock throbbed.

Could have found her corpse. The stake could have been lodged in her heart.

Then what the hell would I have done?

What. The. Hell?

Simon tossed Dee his shirt. “Cover up.” The thing would swallow her.

Her fingers fisted in the material, catching it easily. “Simon, I—”

“Get. Dressed.” He sucked in a harsh gulp of air. “Or get fucked because, babe, it is a very near thing.” A gentleman, no, he’d never been that. The woman might not realize it, but he was trying for her.

Trying to protect her. From the freaks out there who were after her, and even from himself.

Slowly, taking her sweet time about it, Dee stuck her arms into the sleeves of the shirt. She hadn’t put her bra back on—what, did she want to torture him? He could see the tips of her nipples and he hadn’t gotten to taste them and—

Simon spun away from her. “Just so you know,” he growled. “I was an idiot the other night.” Should have taken her. Would have made things easier.

“Huh.” A pause. “So what’s your excuse now?”

His head swung back toward her. “The concussion that has you trembling, your eyes dilated, and your speech still slurred.” Okay, not really slurred. He’d just thrown that one out for fun and to make his point. The woman was barely on her feet, if he took her, no—no.

“So, when I’m healed, it’s game on?”

What? His eyes slit. “Count on it.” Was this some bluff? Some tease? She’d learn soon enough he wasn’t the teasing kind.

“Good.” Her smile punched him in the gut and had him almost weaving. “Because I’m tired of waiting on your hard-to-get ass.”

The laughter came from him, a little rusty and a little too hard.

That smile of hers widened, showing her pretty white teeth. Then she laughed with him, even as she put up a hand to touch the base of her head.

Oh, shit. He couldn’t look away from the fullness of her lips. I’m in trouble.

Headed straight to hell, following a woman who would never be an angel.



Antonio entered the Night Watch building just before dawn. Hunters milled around, voices buzzed. The place was always the busiest at night.

The darkness was the best cover for catching prey.

He hurried past the line of back offices, a file gripped tightly in his left hand.

Rounding a corner, he headed down that last, lonely stretch of space—

“Sir? Sir, may I help—”

New assistant. Antonio halted. Great. Leave it to Pak to be breaking someone new in now.

Turning slowly, he eyed Pak’s new PA. The woman looked to be pushing seventy. Her hair was a white mane, and her dark eyes were narrowed behind her wire-framed glasses. Her shoulders had stooped with time, just a bit. The woman looked like a small wind could slam her against the wall.