He shook his head, unscrewed a bottle of something, wetted a gauze pad, and swiped it over her cut. “This is a coagulant Eidolon developed from vampire saliva. It’s more effective on supernaturally inflicted wounds than anything humans have invented.”
“Eew.”
“Would you rather I licked you?” The dark, sultry note in his voice wrapped around her like a silk ribbon.
How to answer that? Because either yes or no would be both truth and lie. In the end, she managed a breathy “No,” which she could only hope sounded more convincing to him than it did to her. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Look, can you step on it? I need to get to my assassin den.”
He leveled her an amused, no-deal look, as if she had absolutely no say in her future. “I told you, you’re coming to my place.” He finished mopping up the laceration, which, thanks to the vamp spit concoction, was now oozing instead of gushing. “The Carceris is looking for you. They’ll hit all of the obvious places first.”
“Well, Captain Bossy, the den has security goons.” When Con took a break from twisting the top off a small bottle of antiseptic to give her an are-you-fucking-serious look, she sighed. “I know they can’t stop the Carceris, but they’ll at least warn me.”
“Are you sure about that? Little sting…” He squirted the liquid into the cut on her thigh and she gritted her teeth against the pain. “Aiding and abetting is a serious offense. Do your guards love you that much?”
No, they didn’t. A slow roll of guilt rose up in her as she thought about how Eidolon and Wraith had come to her aid even knowing what they were risking.
And Con, too. She studied him as he worked on her wound, his gloved hands gentle, practiced. She hadn’t expected that. From the moment she’d met the gorgeous male, he’d been nothing but intense. Hard. He’d thrown her against the side of the very ambulance they were in. He’d bet his paramedic partner, Luc, that he could get into her pants.
And he had.
Now he was carefully tending to her wound and trying to get her to safety. “Why are you helping me?” she blurted.
“You still owe me ten bucks.”
She flashed him a fake smile. “Funny. But you’re not helping me because I busted you for making a bet with Luc and taking more than half the winnings.”
“Fine. How’s this? You’re responsible for the warg epidemic, and if you’re locked up in a cell, Eidolon won’t have the access to you he needs to help develop a cure,” he said. “Besides, I owe your brothers.”
Of course. He wasn’t helping because he liked her or anything. Which was fine, because she didn’t like him either. And that couldn’t sound more childish, could it? “Why do you owe them?”
One big shoulder rolled in a half-shrug. “I was on a bad path. Self-destructive. Got into a bar fight with Luc and we both ended up at UG.”
“So, Eidolon saved your life?”
“Nah. Another little sting.” He swabbed the laceration with something that, yeah, stung. “Have you met Vladlena? She’s a nurse. Hyena-shifter. Few years ago, her father, a doc named Yuri, had a bug up his ass about some crap that went down between me and his son years earlier, and he sicced the Carceris on me. Eidolon figured that if I was stuck in prison, I couldn’t make good on my hospital bill, so he got me out. Payment was me working for him for two years.”
“Guess you stuck around?”
“Guess so. Turned out to be a cool job. No two calls are the same. Keeps me on my toes.”
Sin got that. She wasn’t much for routine either. “So, you done yet?”
“Why so anxious?”
“Because I’m vulnerable anywhere outside the den, assassin headquarters, or the hospital. Which is why I need to go to the den instead of your place, even though the Carceris will look there.” She also needed to find one of her sex partners. Fast. Before she broke down and pounced on Conall.
“Vulnerable to what?”
“My assassins.”
He blinked. “Your own assassins are a danger to you?”
“Some of them covet my position. Whoever kills me gets to take over the den.”
“How do you stay safe when you’re with them?”
“Assassins and their masters are bonded, so they can’t harm the master inside any assassin den or headquarters, or any place protected by a Haven spell. But outside those areas… all bets are off. A few of the older assassins can actually sense their masters’ locations.”
Con breathed a curse. “You are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”
“Your bedside manner sucks.”
“Oh, I have one hell of a bedside manner,” he drawled huskily, reminding her that her body ached, and not from pain. He smoothed a large bandage over the wound, his fingers roaming slowly over the fabric and her skin, turning a medical procedure into one of the most sensual experiences of her life.
Talk about pathetic.
He left his hands where they were, wrapped around her thighs, and he looked up, his sterling gaze meeting hers. The air in the ambulance seemed to thicken and heat, and would it kill Shade to install air-conditioning in these things?
“Take off your jacket,” he murmured.
Sin’s heart stuttered. “I’m not having sex with you.”
“You want to.” An easy, seductive smile turned up his sinful mouth. “But that’s not why I want you to strip.”
“Liar. You’d love to get into my pants.”
He looked at her like she was a complete idiot. “You’re bleeding still.”
Oh. Humiliating. She sniffed. “No, I’m not.”
“I can smell it.”
Damned vampires. “Give me my pants.”
“Take off your jacket. I won’t tell you again.”
“And I won’t let you treat the wound.” She jerked her legs out of his grip, but he was on his feet in a flash, yanking her jacket down to reveal the wide gash in her biceps.
She tried to wrench away, but he held her easily, his amusement gone. “How did this happen? Who did this? The Carceris?”
“I did it,” she snapped, and his head jerked back.
“You’re a cutter?” He reached for a gauze pad, but she gripped his wrist.
No, she wasn’t. But she wasn’t going to explain anything to Con. “Do not mess with this one,” she said levelly. “I will fight you, and on this, I will not back down.”
Con’s handsome, angular features hardened with anger, and she heard the grind of his teeth and the pop of jawbone. “You can’t let it bleed like that.”
“I can, and I will.”
“I’m on the edge right now, Sin.” His voice was guttural, with a slight tremor that extended to the hand she was holding.
Shit. Her blood was tempting him. She closed her eyes, cursing silently. She’d allowed Eidolon to stitch her arm once, instead of using his healing powers. Maybe this time—
Hot breath fanned over her arm, and her eyes shot open. Con’s mouth was close, so close… Yes, just this once… “Do it,” she whispered, and for all of that, he hesitated.
His trembling worsened, and he reached for the vamp spit. Without thinking, Sin cupped the back of his head and brought his lips to her arm. The wound was a deeply personal pain, and she wasn’t about to let some strange medical concoction near it. Then again, was letting Con be a part of that pain any better?
Her emotions wobbled, and she exhaled slowly, unsure she could handle such intimacy. No, she was sure. She couldn’t.
Just as she was about to push him away, he moaned, let out a shuddering breath, and sank his body against her, and in a heartbeat, her concern seemed distant. His arousal was a massive presence against her core, and his hands, still encased in surgical gloves, slipped under her tank top to grip her waist. How the hell the slide of latex on her skin could feel so erotic was beyond her, but she wished he’d either move his hands up to her breasts or lower to her sex so she could see just how much more erotic it could get. Unfortunately, he kept them tamely motionless, his
grip tight, as if he were afraid that if he loosened it, he’d do exactly what she was hoping for.
Slowly, tentatively, he swept his tongue from the base of the cut to the crest. The soothing caress eased the pain, and with each slow lap, it eased more, until there was nothing left but a mildly pleasant sting.
And a throbbing lust that penetrated all the way to her core.
Beneath Con’s skin, his muscles were bunched, his body tense, and she sensed something dark inside, something he was trying to contain.
“Con?” She slid her hand over his back, and beneath her palm, his muscles rippled and jumped.
He uttered something in a language she didn’t know, but she was pretty sure it was a nasty curse. Abruptly, he leaped back, and at the same moment, someone pounded on the rear door.
A rumbling voice came from the other side. “Send the succubus out, or everyone inside dies.”
Con didn’t take time to think. Instinct roared to the surface, and he lunged, taking Sin down to the rig’s deck, covering her body with his. Ten seconds ago, when he was battling bloodlust, he’d have gotten off on the feeling of her hard form against his harder one, of her thighs cradling him between them, but right now, his only concern was keeping her safe.
If she died, so might the only hope for getting rid of the virus in his blood.
Plus, her brothers would kill him. A lot.
“Who is it?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “I don’t recognize the voice. Must be the Carceris.”
“They couldn’t have found us that quickly. Not without a hellhound or a blood tracker. It’s gotta be an assassin.”
She cursed. “Let me up.”
There wasn’t enough room in the aisle between the bench seat and the stretcher to let her up even if he wanted to. “I’m going to start the engine and get us out of here. Stay down.”
She didn’t argue, miracle of miracles, and he eased himself off of her, backing slowly on his hands and knees toward the opening between the box section of the rig and the cab. He paused at the tiny doorway and listened, allowing his superior hearing to search out anything out of the ordinary. All he picked up were the normal sounds of a city. Tires on asphalt, honking horns, humans chatting as they funneled in and out of subway stations. There was nothing that might indicate the number of assailants outside the ambulance.
He peered into the cab and saw a male demon just outside the driver’s window. Shit. He eased back. “Nightlash at the front.”
“Sparkly pink ring in his nose?”
Con did a double take. “Yeah. Real manly.”
“It’s Zeph.” She eased to her hands and knees. “The one out back will be a Ramreel named Trag. They’re partners. Never work alone.”
“Your assassins?”
She snared her pants and jammed her legs into them. “Bastards.”
“So that’s a yes.” Con blew out a breath. “I thought you didn’t recognize the voice.”
“Trag is an expert at disguising it. But the good news is that I know how they work.” She’d produced a throwing knife, and she held it loosely in her fingers, ready to throw. “They probably don’t know about the Haven spell, but they don’t plan to come inside to kill me anyway. If you don’t shove me outside, they’ll bust open the doors and use ranged weapons to kill me.”
“Guns?”
“Doubtful. More likely they’ll use poison darts or fireballs.”
“You have fifteen seconds,” the male near the rear doors called out, and Sin leaped nimbly to her feet.
“I’ll go out through the side door. I can slip around the front and take Zeph by surprise if you can throw open the back door—”
“I have a better idea.” Con stood. “Which one is the most dangerous? The strongest?”
“Trag,” she replied, and disappointment sliced through him. Con had fought Ramreels before, but a Nightlash assassin would be something new. “Why?”
“I’ll take him.” He glanced up at the roof hatch that Shade had installed precisely for situations like this. The demon thought of everything. Though Con was going to suggest an installation of external ambulance weapons when this was over. “You get the other one.”
“Wait—”
Too late. He slid the hatch open and quietly lifted himself through it. Slowly, he eased onto his stomach and inched toward the rear of the rig. Behind him, silent as a whisper, Sin came up, all grace and flexible muscle. Below, Trag banged on the door.
“Time’s up.”
Con went over the edge, landing on the Ramreel and taking him down hard. The demon’s horns made a satisfying crack on the pavement. Nice. Distantly, he heard Zeph’s pained grunt, but then Con took a fist to the face, and pain brought his attention fully back to his opponent.
“You can’t defeat me, paramedic,” Trag spat. “I’m a trained assassin.”
“Wrong.” Con jammed his knee into Trag’s gut. “As a paramedic, I know exactly how to kill you.” A lifetime of fighting had taught him a lot, but learning how the body worked had made him that much more lethal.
On that energizing thought, Con thrust his fist into the Ramreel’s thick neck, crushing his larynx. Trag made an agonized bleating sound, which Con cut off with a double-tap to his broad snout. The demon rocked backward, but he recovered in a flash, doubling over and using his massive, curled horns to ram Con into the rig’s back door.
Fuck, that hurt.
Con ducked, barely avoiding being impaled by Trag’s dagger. With a deft spin, he wrenched the demon’s arm behind his back and flipped him. Trag went down, and Con delivered another devastating blow to his throat, one that blew right through the male’s carotid artery, killing him instantly. The body would disintegrate, as did most demons when they died outside of Sheoul or a demon-built structure in the human realm, and Con didn’t wait around to watch.
He sprinted to the front of the rig, where Sin was mashed against the driver’s-side door by the Nightlash. He held a knife to her throat, but she had her hand on the demon’s shoulder, her dermoire glowing fiercely, and before Con could dispatch the bastard, he fell to the ground, his skin ashen and rashed, eyes sunken in.
Whatever disease Sin had pumped into the demon had brought him down hard. And grotesquely.
The reminder of what she was and what she had done slapped him in the face, bringing his brain back to the place it needed to be while dealing with her: professional distance.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She kicked the dead demon in the ribs and winced, clutching her thigh.
Con swore. “Let me check your leg—”
“It’s fine.” She wheeled away and stalked to the rear of the rig, where the Ramreel’s body was already nothing but a greasy stain on the asphalt. “Son of a bitch,” she breathed, and Con swore he heard a trace of regret. “He was a damned good assassin.”
“Not so good with the hand-to-hand.”
“It was his main weakness.” The morning breeze blew her hair into her face, and Con barely resisted the urge to brush it back. “He relied on his aim and didn’t focus enough on physical combat.”
“And what’s your weakness?”
She shoved her dagger into her boot. “I don’t have one.”
“If you believe that, then delusion is your weakness.”
“Aren’t you a smarty-pants,” she said crisply. “Fine. My weakness is that I’m a succubus. But it is very rarely an issue when I’m working.”
He doubted that, and now he wanted to kick himself for not considering that he might want her blood so badly because she was a succubus. It might not be her blood at all—it could be her pheromones that were driving his hunger, not an impending addiction.
Unless…
“What is your succubi requirement?” he snapped.
Her raven eyebrows popped up. “Uh… sex?”
“No, I mean, what is it you steal or cause?”
She jammed her hands on her hips. “Well, I d
on’t steal souls, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t do anything.”
Oh, she did something, whether or not she knew it.
A hiss, like the sound from a flattening tire, rose up behind him as the Nightlash’s body dissolved. He waited until the noise died away before asking, “How long before you’ll need sex?”
“Not long. And all my regular partners are at the den.”
A stirring of… something… made him twitch. It couldn’t be jealousy. He’d never experienced that before. Not over a female. But something definitely torqued his temper, and he herded her into the passenger seat with his jaw set so tight he practically had to pry it open to talk after he settled behind the wheel.
“We’ll figure something out, but we won’t have much time at my house.” He cranked the engine. “The Carceris will be looking for you in all your haunts, but you can bet your ass that they’re investigating me. It won’t be long before they find out where I live.” He had two residences—hopefully they’d check out his apartment first. “We should have time to clean up and map out our next move.” Like maybe handing her off to one of her brothers. Sin didn’t seem to have heard him. She was staring off into space and absently rubbing her breastbone. “Hey, you okay?”
She blinked. “Of course I am.”
Right. No weaknesses. But he wasn’t buying it. Her own assassins were trying to kill her, take her job, and unless she had ice water in her veins instead of blood, it had to bother her.
And he knew damned good and well her blood ran hot, not cold.
“Does your chest hurt?”
“A little. It’s a dull ache from losing two assassins I was bonded to.”
He grimaced, unable to imagine being able to sense someone’s death like that. He got the rig moving as Sin fished a cell phone from her pocket and dialed. “Who are you calling?”
“One of my guys.” She paused, said into the phone, “Lycus. What’s going on?”
Con’s dhampire hearing sharpened, enhanced, and homed in on the conversation.
“You’re out in the open. You’re a target, Sin.” The male’s voice was as clear to Con as if he were sitting in the passenger seat with Sin.