Wicked Deal (Shadow Guild: The Rebel Book 2) Read online

  He wouldn’t hurt me.

  “Don’t think that,” he said.

  “What?”

  “That I won’t hurt you.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I can see it in you. Your trust. You can’t trust me not to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” And he wouldn’t—not on purpose. I could almost feel his restraint, like a physical thing on the air.

  For the first time, I wondered if he was torn about his species. If he didn’t like it. He was so complex, the Devil.

  I had to touch him. I couldn't help it. Maybe it was his magic racing through my system. Maybe it was just him.

  But I had to.

  There was something dangerous between us. Something I didn’t understand.

  And I didn’t care.

  I rested my hands on the wide planes of his chest, the warmth of his skin burning my palms and shivering up my arms. My gaze moved up to his lips in time to see them part on a groan.

  His big hands came up and gripped my waist, pulling me to him. His touch was forceful, commanding.

  I loved it.

  The low groan reverberated in his throat as his lips pressed warm and hard against mine. Sparks exploded behind my eyelids as I parted my lips and welcomed the slick glide of his tongue. His fangs had retracted, and his kiss was nothing but pleasure.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck as he crushed me to him, pressing the full length of my body against his. Every inch of him was against me, hard and unforgiving.

  His hands moved down my sides, strong and firm, as if he couldn’t get enough of me. Broad palms cupped my hips and pulled me closer. His lips moved from my mouth to my neck, as if he wanted to taste all of me.

  When I felt the slight scrape of his fangs against my skin, I jerked, startled.

  He was faster, pulling away from me, horror in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t do—”

  “I didn’t control myself. I couldn’t.” I could hear the loathing in his voice.

  “So the biting and sex are…”

  “Not linked. Not normally.” His gaze moved over me, something unreadable in its depths. “But with you… I said you shouldn’t trust me.”

  I rubbed my arms, still hot from his touch yet chilled with worry. Maybe he was right—maybe he was dangerous.

  I still wanted him.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” His words were soft.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you want me.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s hard enough to resist you.”

  I wanted to scoff that it wasn’t true, but I couldn’t.

  He turned away from me. The movement seemed to cost him an effort. “In the morning, we’ll search for more clues about Ivan’s plans. For now, you need rest. There’s another bedroom.”

  “Um…okay.” I walked away from him, knowing it was for the best. But as I headed toward the other room, my heart pounding, I couldn’t forget the feeling of his lips—his fangs—against my skin.

  8

  Carrow

  In the other bedroom, my mind still spun. I couldn’t believe that anything could feel like that.

  And what I’d almost done.

  Everything.

  I’d have given him anything he wanted.

  Breathing hard, I went into the bathroom and washed my face. I could hear the Devil’s shower going in the other room and couldn’t help but think of him in there.

  “No.” I stared into the mirror, taking in my wild eyes and wilder hair. “Bad Carrow. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  But it so badly wanted to be in the gutter.

  I shook my head and stripped out of the dress and shoes, staying in the bra and panties that the Fae woman had given me. They didn’t have any powers, but they sure were pretty. I needed a shower, but honestly, what I really needed was a drink.

  Shaking slightly, I walked into the room to find something to calm my nerves. What I wouldn’t give for a box of wine and Cordelia. Not that I wanted to go back to my regular life, but hell, this new life was getting very crazy.

  In the minifridge, I found a small bottle of white wine and poured myself half a glass. This was not the time to lose my wits, but the wine tasted good going down. More than anything, I liked the ritual of it. The ability to focus on something besides my thoughts.

  I headed back toward the bathroom, determined to take a quick shower and get a tiny bit of sleep.

  A noise from the window made me jump. I turned, ice racing over my skin.

  The window swung open, and an enormous man slipped into the room. I opened my mouth to scream, but he flicked his hand, and my throat closed tight. He approached quickly.

  Panic flared.

  Where was my dagger bracelet?

  The other side of the room.

  A weapon. I needed a weapon.

  He was on me before I could move, as swift as the Devil had been back in the bar. Except he wasn’t fighting to protect me.

  The intruder’s hand closed around my throat. “You’ve been poking into things that are better left alone.” His eyes gleamed with a cold, demonic darkness.

  I kicked out at him, but we were too close. He tightened his grip.

  The wine glass.

  I smashed it against the wall and stabbed him in the neck with the broken stem. His eyes bulged. Blood bubbled up around the wound, but he didn’t let go.

  I struggled kicking and hitting, but he didn't so much as budge. Even the glass shoved into his throat didn’t slow him.

  My vision faded at the edges. Fear sliced through me, and my lungs burned. I kicked the wall behind me, hoping to alert the Devil, and clawed at the man’s cheeks, raking gouges into the skin that made him grin eerily.

  His face shifted, transforming into something rougher, with horns protruding from his head. Blood dripped from his neck wound, and his breath gurgled around it, but his grip on my throat didn’t loosen.

  Tears pricked my eyes.

  Cordelia appeared out of the corner of my vision, and hope collided with fear. The little raccoon was no match for this monster.

  She raced toward him anyway. She’d nearly reached him when the Devil slammed into the room.

  “Release her!” The Devil charged the monster who had me pinned.

  Cordelia veered out of the way, and the Devil jerked the bastard off me. I coughed and went to my knees, sucking air through my burning throat. My hair fell over my face as I tried to catch my breath.

  Through the strands, I saw a massive spray of blood paint the floor. Shocked, I looked up. The Devil held the monster’s head in his hands.

  The body lay on the floor.

  Holy crap.

  On the other side of the room, Cordelia disappeared, as if it were just too much for her.

  Hell, it was too much for me. I might have magic, but I wasn’t used to this magical world of vampires tearing off monster heads.

  Throat still burning, I scrambled back against the wall.

  Something strange flashed across the Devil’s face, almost like shock or regret, and he tossed the demon head aside. It thudded to the ground.

  Oh God, Police College had not prepared me for this.

  “Are you all right?” He fell to his knees beside me, eyes dark with worry and lips tight.

  I gasped, my lungs struggling to feed oxygen to my starved body. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  My unwilling gaze went to the head on the floor.

  “I’m sorry about that.” He frowned. “That was…gruesome.”

  “It’s fine.” As much as my stomach was heaving, it really was fine. That horned thing had been about to squeeze the life from me. I’d take his death over mine any day, and I’d learn to get the iron stomach necessary to live in this world.

  “I try not to kill anymore, but when I saw you there…” He trailed off. “I lost it.”

  “You were worried?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks.”

 
He nodded, raising his hand as if to reach for me. He closed it into a fist and lowered it. “You’re certain that you’re all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I should have let him keep his head. We could have questioned him.”

  “Maybe not. I shoved my wine stem in his throat. But why didn’t he die? He could barely breathe.”

  “He’s a demon. They need air, but their bodies are different. Some can go longer without oxygen.”

  I looked back at the body, which appeared to be flickering. “What’s happening to him?”

  “Shite.” The Devil surged to his feet and approached the body. “Demon bodies disappear from this plane and reappear back in their hells.”

  “He’s not really dead?”

  “He is. For a while, at least.”

  The Devil knelt by the body and began to search the pockets. I blinked, realizing that he was half naked. He wore only his trousers, his entire top half bare.

  I’d been so focused on his face a moment ago—on the fear for me that I’d seen there—that I hadn’t noticed the rest of him. Now, I couldn’t help but notice.

  His muscles were chiseled to perfection, but his skin was a latticework of old scars. Knife and sword wounds, it looked like. Hundreds of battles from long ago. None of the bullet wounds one might see on a modern soldier.

  A shadow on his shoulder caught my eye, and I squinted.

  It looked like a compass rose, but far blurrier.

  I scrambled upright and approached him silently, staring hard at it.

  Holy crap—that was the same tattoo the corpse in his club had borne. The Devil had tried to have it removed, but it hadn’t worked.

  “What is that?” I demanded. “Your tattoo.”

  He stiffened, cursing slightly under his breath. “We need to search the body before it disappears.”

  He was right, but I was entranced by the tattoo. By the lies.

  Then my training kicked in. I might have been tossed out of school, but I’d learned a hell of a lot. I shoved aside the emotion and stepped over the body, which was now half transparent. I could see the carpet beneath it as I knelt and began to search his jacket.

  I pulled out everything I could, setting it on the ground beside me. Fueled by an idea, I jerked at the body’s clothes, looking for the same tattoo the Devil wore.

  I found it on the demon’s shoulder.

  I pressed my hand to it, calling on my magic. I had to know what it was.

  The Devil’s gaze burned into me as I tried, but nothing came. The bastard was too far gone. I looked up, searching for the head. I’d touch it if I had to—anything to get my answers.

  But it was nearly gone, too.

  I removed my hands from the demon. “You’re going to tell me about your connection to this.” The Devil’s gaze shuttered, and I glared at him. “I’m not doing anything else until you tell me.”

  The body between us was nearly gone, and we were surrounded by a tiny collection of items that had been in the demon’s pockets. A few colored stones that I now recognized as enchanted objects—charms, they were called—along with keys and a wallet, which seemed weird for a demon. But then, this whole world was weird.

  “Carrow.” The Devil’s voice was heavy.

  “You’re going to tell me.” I surged to my feet, and the Devil’s gaze followed my movements. His jaw tightened.

  Crap. I was still mostly naked.

  The memory of our kiss flashed in my mind, and I shoved it aside.

  “Don’t look at me.” I stomped to the bathroom and found a robe, then pulled it on.

  When I returned to the room, the Devil was standing near the fridge, a glass of amber-colored liquid in his hand. He hadn’t put on a shirt, and his front half was just as magnificent as the back. There were even more scars there, but somehow, they just emphasized his power and strength. I liked him more because of them, even as I was afraid of him.

  He was impossibly handsome despite the shadows in his eyes. The slate gray had darkened, as if he were fighting off horrible memories, but I hardened myself against him.

  “Well?” I demanded.

  He sighed, then sat in one of the two chairs near the window. I joined him, perching on the chair across from him and nearly vibrating with anger.

  “I didn’t trust you when I agreed to help you,” I said. “But this is worse than I expected.”

  “That’s good.” His voice was flat. “I’m far worse than you could ever expect.”

  “You’re Vlad the Impaler, the famous vampire, right? And you murdered all those people.” My gaze flicked back to the spot where the body had lay. “Why do you have the same markings as both of the bodies?”

  “You know that I’m a turned vampire.”

  I nodded.

  “Most vampires in the world are born. They’re not much different than any other supernatural. They have magic, they’re mortal. They’re not monsters any more than witches or sorcerers or seers are. Some of them are evil, but it’s not the nature of their species.”

  “But it is the nature of yours?”

  “Some think so.”

  “You think so.”

  His entire dark history seemed to be reflected in his eyes. “It’s hard not to. I own my actions, and I regret them.”

  “You killed those people?”

  “Most of my worst deeds occurred in the past, shortly after I’d been turned.”

  I waited silently.

  He leaned back and stared out the window. “Vampires are rarely made because few are capable of it. Few are willing to do it because their progeny—like me—become insatiable monsters, out for death and blood. They rampage across the countryside, killing anyone they come across.”

  I swallowed hard, horrified.

  He continued. “Often, they don’t live long. They’re so out of control…so horrifically consumed by bloodlust…that they aren’t good at covering their tracks. Vampire hunters take them out if others don’t get to them first.”

  “You survived.”

  “I was strong and clever. For some reason, after I’d been turned, I retained parts of myself. My cunning, my charm.” He shook his head, regret in every movement. “It makes it worse, somehow. That my mind was still partially there, even as I committed terrible atrocities.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Like it?” He met my gaze, confusion in his eyes. “I…don’t know. I hated myself even then. Hated what I was doing. But I couldn’t control it. The need would come over me like a black mist.”

  “Yet you survived,” I said again.

  “My skills helped me evade capture for years. Eventually, I created a small empire here in Transylvania.”

  All the myths were true, and I was sitting across from the man himself. The murderer.

  I drew in a shaky breath. “What happened?”

  “As the years went on, I shook off the effects of the turning. I was able to force the bloodlust down deep, far away to a place where it couldn’t influence me. But before that happened, I made an alliance.”

  “With this Ivan.”

  “You’re perceptive.”

  “It’s the only direction this could possibly go.”

  “Ivan was worse than me, if possible. Not a vampire, but a mage out of control with power. Once I’d regained my senses, I no longer wanted to kill.” His gaze met mine. “Don’t think that means I’m not still a monster. I manipulate and threaten and compel others to get what I want. But I no longer murder senselessly.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t think you’re a saint.”

  The corner of his lips quirked in a small, wry smile. “I don’t know why I ever thought I had a chance at you.”

  Shock lanced me, and I stilled.

  His gaze shuttered, as if he hadn’t meant to say that. He continued speaking. “Ivan and I had a gang of supernaturals who fought for us.” He touched his shoulder. “All were marked as I was. As Ivan was. The only way to stop them was to take out Ivan
.”

  “But he’s alive.”

  “Now he is. He was immortal—rare among supernaturals—and impossibly strong. Even harder to kill than I am. I incapacitated him and trapped him in a tomb at the bottom of the sea.”

  I could feel my eyes widen.

  “I knew he’d be there a long time,” he said. “But I’d hoped it would be for longer. It appears he managed to rise recently.”

  “And he’s restarted your empire.”

  He nodded.

  “But why attack Guild City?”

  “To get back at me. He said he’d take everything I love.”

  “You love Guild City?”

  “What else do I have?”

  Shoot. He had a point. From what I’d seen, he lived a shadowy, lonely life. Wealth and power of unimaginable scale, sure, but it wasn’t a life I would want. Especially now that this Ivan was back from the dead. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would you want to tell the worst of your past?”

  “If it was like yours, no.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, then was gone.

  Had I hurt him?

  I couldn’t help but feel like I had. He didn’t argue, though. How could he? His past was terrible.

  “I’d already tried looking for Ivan myself,” he said. “I couldn’t check the tomb, but I had a feeling he’d returned. The leads ran cold, however. That’s why I needed you.”

  My mind raced. “The man who broke into your club…was he a warning?”

  “I think so, yes. It was a power play. Ivan’s way of saying he had enough minions that he could throw them away.”

  “What a monster.”

  “You’re sitting with one.”

  “You’re not as bad as he is.”

  “But I was.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that—or even what I thought of it—so I stood and walked toward the objects on the ground. “We must find him and stop him. But how, if he’s immortal?”

  “If trauma can’t kill him, I can contain him with powerful magicuffs and imprison him again.”

  “Do you have magicuffs that are that strong?”

  “There are some in the dungeons of Black Church that will work.” The Devil stood and joined me.