She knew he was right. Even if Giorgio had a store of blood, it wouldn't last forever. And if they found Giorgio, they'd find the angel. "I hate waiting," she said, though at this point, there was no other option. The Guild's financial whiz was running through Giorgio's finances with her counterpart at the Tower; if the vampire had hidden any properties under shell corporations, the two would find it. All his accounts had also been flagged to send up an alert should he attempt to access them.
Ashwini knew she wouldn't be any good to Felicity, Lilli, and the other victims if she didn't have her head in the right space when the information came through. Modulating her breathing with conscious effort of will, she tugged off her gloves. "I have to shower," she said. "You're taking me to dinner after we drop my gear off at home."
"Then will you be my dinner?"
Skin shimmering at the reminder of how potent he was, she said, "Play your cards right and I just might."
His wicked smile followed her into the shower, scoured some of the frustration off. Not all of it. Nothing could do that until they'd hunted down the evil behind the torture and deaths of so many hopeful young lives, but she could breathe, could think . . . could remember that she, too, had a life.
Full throttle.
Exiting the locker room after her shower, her duffel over her shoulder, she found Janvier chatting to Ransom. The other hunter was on his crutches but dressed in workout clothes that likely meant he'd come to lift weights, his hair pulled back in a tight twisting braid. Flicking it, she said, "Pretty."
"Nyree did it." A smug smile.
Never had she thought she'd see Ransom gaga over a woman. It was cute. "So, when's the wedding?"
"We haven't decided, but it won't be long. I figure if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it." A glance from her to Janvier. "So . . ."
Her scowl made his grin widen. "Have a nice dinner!" he called out as they left, loud enough to alert the others in the gym. "Call me if you want any tips about doing dirty, dirty things on the back of a motorcycle!"
Their fellow hunters hooted and whistled.
Instead of snapping a quick comeback as she would've done before, Ashwini swiveled to haul Janvier down to her with a grip on his leather jacket and claimed his mouth in a deep, wet, possessive kiss that set the entire gym hollering. When she released him, he looked like he'd been hit over the head with a baseball bat. She took his hand, ignored the ruckus, and headed outside.
He didn't speak until they were at his bike and she'd swung up behind him, the duffel slung across her back. Then he leaned backward into her, his hand on her thigh. "Merci, cher."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her position on the bike giving her the extra height. "I should've done it a long time ago." Publicly claimed him for her own.
"You weren't ready--and this is a moment I will never forget." Sitting up, he passed over her helmet and put on his own.
The traffic was heavy but they made good time despite that, thanks to Janvier's driving. It would've been reckless in another, less capable man. With him, it was simply exhilarating and they were back in her apartment not long afterward, both of them pumped and laughing.
When Janvier pushed her up against the wall after they entered and kissed her, his hand curving around her neck, she wrapped one leg around his and thrust her hands into his hair, sank into the heat and the strength of him. It felt so good to touch and be touched, but it wasn't simply that. It was because this was him.
Her man.
He'd kissed her with a half smile, half laugh on his face and it felt like sunshine in her blood. Licking and tasting him, as he did her in turn, she bit down on his lower lip. "How am I doing?"
"You need lots of practice." A glint in his eye. "On me. I insist."
She bit him again for that, before sucking his lip and flicking her tongue over the sensual punishment. "Don't complain if I wear you out, then." Returning to the kiss with a smile that echoed his, she drank in the taste of him. "I like kissing you, cuddlebunny."
His shoulders shook. Scraping his fangs lightly over her lips, he slid his hands down to cup her ass. "I acquiesce to being your cuddlebunny, if you'll meet my terms. They involve naked cuddling and blood."
"Done." Laughing, she just drank in his smile, and then they were kissing again. Their breaths grew shorter, his body harder, hotter. Skin burning under her touch, he shrugged off his jacket to drop it to the floor. Ashwini ran her hands up his back, over the leather of the holster. "Knives," she murmured, kissing his jaw, his throat.
Janvier's muscles shifted, his arms crossing over his back. The slide of blade against scabbard and then the thump of two blades being embedded into the walls on either side of her head. She laughed softly. "You're fixing the holes."
"It will be my pleasure." He busied himself kissing her neck as she undid the strap across his chest and pushed the holster off his muscular shoulders. Sometimes, she forgot how strong he was, but it was impossible to do that with him so close, his muscles fluid beneath his skin.
The holster and scabbards hit the carpet with a dull thud.
Sucking on her neck, Janvier pushed off and reached for the gun she wore in the thigh holster. "Will you shoot me if I touch your gun?"
"Not today."
Deep male laughter, his cheeks creasing beautifully. Unable to resist, she pulled him back to her mouth and demanded another kiss. He gave it to her, but then broke off. "I do not intend to get accidentally shot in the family jewels, cher."
"No, that would be a shame." She tugged up his T-shirt and slid her hands over the hard ridges of his abdomen.
"That is not helping." He groaned but managed to get the gun out of the holster. Making sure the safety was on, he put it on the entranceway table.
"Nuh-uh." She pushed at him. "Not here."
Instead of complaining, he let her go and used the chance to rip off his T-shirt. By the time she made it to the bedroom and put the gun on the bedside table, he'd shucked his boots and socks and was working on undoing his belt, having left a trail of discarded items behind him as he followed her. Her mouth watered. God, he was sexy with his hair all mussed up and his lips wet from her kisses, his body bared for her eyes only.
Pulling the belt out of its loops, he dropped it to the floor.
She walked over, put her hands on his hips, then slid down to press her lips to his navel, just above the button he'd flicked open on his jeans.
He said words she didn't know in his native tongue, thrust his hand into her hair, and shuddered. "You cannot do that, sugar. Or I will embarrass myself."
Rising slowly, kiss by kiss, she met his mouth with her own. He hauled her close, his erection pushing demandingly against her abdomen and his body heat a pulse. She ran her hands over him, loving the feel of him, the scent of him. He smelled . . . of Janvier. Masculine and hot and just Janvier.
When she reached down and stroked him through his jeans, he broke the kiss to press his forehead to hers, his breathing strained. "Ashwini." A hoarse whisper. "I have no defenses against you."
Seduced, intoxicated, she tugged down the zipper, wanting to feel him in her hand, to pleasure him as he did her with his every touch. "You're not wearing underwear." She used her teeth to tug on the lobe of his ear. "I should've known."
Gripping the back of her neck, he kissed her again as she closed her fingers around the thick heat of his erection. His cock felt like iron, but his skin there, it was so delicate, so fine. Fascinated, her own pulse a hammer and her blood so scalding it was near ignition, she stroked gently to the tip, felt the wetness there. Her next stroke slicked that bead of wetness over him, turned his body even more rigid.
"Harder." It was a harsh murmur against her ear.
"I don't want to hurt you."
He chuckled. "There is a reason orgasm is called la petite mort." Closing his hand over hers, he showed her a rhythm so rough she would've never done it on her own. But since he'd asked . . .
Releasing her on a groan when she pr
oved an apt pupil, he locked his hand in her hair, kissed her, deep and voracious and raw. It was mouth sex and it scrambled her neurons. Her hand, though, it knew what to do, did it fast and hard until he broke off the kiss to throw back his head, muscle and tendon standing out in stark relief as his hips pumped into the fist of her fingers.
38
Ashwini looked down, watched him come for her, and it was the most erotic sight she'd seen in her life. When his muscles relaxed, she released him to bite at his throat, over his pulse. He shivered, then nuzzled at her, one hand cupping the side of her face. His eyes were lazy, his body languid as he walked her backward.
When the bed hit the backs of her knees, she fell onto it with a gasp. "My hand," she murmured to the delicious man above her, one who looked as if he'd just rolled out of bed and was ready to crawl back in--with her.
A smile that was pure male. "I'll take care of it." Zipping up just enough to keep his jeans on, he moved with vampiric speed, was back from the bathroom in the time it took for her to inhale, the stickiness on her hand an erotic reminder of their intimacy.
Using a wet facecloth to wipe it off, he dropped the cloth over the side of the bed. "I'm not always so . . . civilized," he said afterward, lifting one of her legs and pulling off her boot and sock. "Would you wear me on your skin?" Kissing her ankle, he put down that leg and picked up her other one.
Ashwini, her breathing less than even, found herself watching the way the muscles of his abdomen flexed and eased as he took off her other boot and sock. He looked up and, smiling, stepped between her thighs and braced himself with his palms on either side of her. Coming down in an effortless move, biceps taut, he flicked his tongue over her lips in a wet tease.
"You're hot, sugar."
"Yes."
"You should take off your jacket."
"That's not the kind of heat I'm talking about." Her body felt as if it were melting from the inside out, her bones honey. However, when he pushed back into a standing position again, she sat up and shrugged off her jacket, as well as the thin sweater she'd pulled on directly over her bra.
Janvier moved with that dangerous, beautiful speed again, his hands on her waist before she'd pushed the strands of hair off her face. Picking her up, he dropped her higher on the bed, so that her legs were no longer half hanging off the side.
It should've scared her, the evidence of his strength. Without her weapons, she'd never take him. But she wasn't scared, not of Janvier, never of him. She welcomed him as he joined her on the bed, his shoulders blocking out the light. With his jeans barely hanging on to his hips, she had plenty of gorgeous male flesh to explore with her hands while he tasted and licked her throat.
Bracing himself on one forearm, he tugged down the cup of her bra. Her breasts were ordinary size; she'd never win a wet T-shirt contest. But Janvier groaned and dipped his head to suck not just her nipple but part of her breast into his mouth.
Spine arching, she thrust the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle her scream as he sucked. Each hot, wet pull went straight to her core. Her panties were so wet she could feel her arousal threatening to soak through her jeans. She didn't care. Holding him to her, she undulated her body toward his in an attempt to rub up against the delicious friction of his cock.
When he lifted his head, she said, "No."
Dropping a kiss to her nipple, he shifted his attention to her other breast and it was just as good. It tightened her stomach muscles, made her thighs clench around him. "Janvier."
"Let me, ma belle sorciere."
She gave in, allowed him to do what he would, and was panting so hard by the time he lifted his head again that she had no breath to form words. Janvier stroked his hand down her ribs, then reached underneath and up to undo her bra clasp. When that proved difficult with her on her back, he grinned at her. "I'll replace it." Lace and cotton tore and her top half was nude to him.
Stroking her, shoulder to thigh, he kissed her mouth, her jaw, whispering sweet, dirty things in her ear that had her hips rising toward him even before he undid her jeans and slid his hand inside her panties. The shock of contact would've lifted her off the bed if he hadn't been pinning her down with his body.
"So wet for me, cher." His breathing as harsh as her own, he accompanied each word with a kiss. "You make me lose my mind."
Her own mind a chaos of sensation, she clutched at his shoulders and, unable to resist the temptation, looked down. The sight of his hand between her thighs, his muscular forearm lightly dusted with hair, made her moan. She needed his kiss, needed to find an anchor again. He bent his head, gave her what she wanted without a word passing between them.
When he withdrew his hand ten seconds later, she dug her nails into his shoulders.
"I would see you." Going down off the bed with those words--with a pause for a kiss or three along her body--he hooked his fingers at the sides and pulled off her jeans and panties in one strong tug. Dropping them onto the floor, he came to kneel between her thighs, taking hold of her knees to spread her wide.
Fingers closing on the sheets, she watched him watch her. His eyes were heavy lidded, his cheeks flushed at the arch of his cheekbones, his breathing ragged. And when she ran her eyes down his body, it was to see that he was thickly aroused, the zipper of his jeans doing a very bad job of containing his length.
"Take off your jeans." She wanted to see him, too, wanted to have every inch of him touch every inch of her.
"In a minute." Inserting his hand back between her thighs, he began to stroke her lightly, so lightly. Again and again and again until her skin shimmered and she was rising up against him, caught on the edge of a pleasure so intense, she could feel it building under her skin like an electrical storm surge.
He withdrew his hand.
She threatened to murder him in creative ways.
Janvier's responding smile imprisoned her, seduced her. When he kissed her, she bit him. It only made his smile deepen. Wrapping her legs around his hips had no effect. He made his way down her body, and then . . .
The scream that came out her mouth as his own closed over her clit was a thin echo, her lungs devoid of air. He sucked hard, eating her up like she was candy, and the storm surge crested, collided. Her mind splintered, rode the crest . . . and he kept on kissing her, long slow licks, small sucks, and quick flicks that had her riding the wave for so long that she was boneless when it passed, her muscles quivering.
Pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, Janvier rose and got rid of his jeans at last.
Beautiful, she thought but couldn't say, her mind too fuzzy from the exquisite, erotic thing he'd done to her.
"You are the beautiful one, sugar."
She frowned, but then he was coming over and she had other things to think about. His naked body on hers, it felt even better than she'd imagined, all heat and strength and a wholly masculine weight, his skin silk under her possessive hands.
Rubbing against her, Janvier reached down to stroke her again. She shivered, sensitive but not in a bad way. "Yes," she murmured, before he could ask the question.
He kissed her again, and this time she kept her eyes open. So did he. The intimacy was blinding. When he slid his finger inside her, she shuddered but didn't break the eye contact. Neither did he . . . and nudged in another finger. Spreading his fingers slightly inside her, he curved them to stroke her deep and slow.
Feeling the storm surge begin to build again, she stroked his cheek. "Together this time."
Turning his head, he kissed her palm.
Her heart squeezed.
She ran her fingers through his hair and down over his nape as he removed his hand from between her legs and shifted position. When he slid his palm down her inner left thigh, she let him push her thigh out wider, and then he was nudging at her with his cock. She moaned at the feel of him pushing into her, the blunt head of his cock wide enough that she definitely felt it, her muscles stretching in an effort to accommodate him.
A small sound escape
d her throat. He went motionless.
Tightening her legs around his hips, she rocked up. "I want you inside me." Kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his throat, her hands cupping his face. "I need you."
"Ashwini." The fingers of one hand digging into her hip, he took a shaky breath and pushed.
It burned but the hurt was a good one.
He slid in another inch, both of them sucked in a breath . . . and he began to retreat. But he pushed back before she could complain, going in an inch deeper. Again, and again. By the time he got to the fifth stroke, she'd forgotten the edge of discomfort and was thinking only of the pleasure. Muscles clenching around him, she heard him swear and then there was no more thinking.
Just heat and sex and Janvier's body stroking in and out of her, their mouths ravenous on one another and their eyes open. She gave him her soul, took his, and it was as it had always been meant to be.
*
Elena landed on the Tower roof late that night, after assisting a fellow hunter with a vamp who'd turned into a squirrelly runner. The small, slippery woman had been fast, weaving in and out through the city with the agility of the acrobat she'd apparently once been. Elena had found herself admiring her--even more so after her response to being caught. "I should've never listened to Bill," the petite runner had muttered in disgust. "Loophole, my ass! And now that very nice ass is toast!"
Wondering how many others Demarco's accountant target had infected with his "loophole" lunacy, Elena reached out to Raphael. Archangel?
No response.
Frowning because she'd assumed he was at the Tower, she walked inside and to his office to find it empty. Her next stop was Dmitri's office. The vampire was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt today, his hair messy, as if he'd been running his hand through it. There was no doubt that Dmitri was a gorgeous, sexy man. There was also no doubt that he liked blood and pain a little too much.
His relationship with Honor was nothing Elena would've ever predicted--because the fact that Dmitri loved his wife was never in question. He saw no one else when Honor was in the room, his dark eyes only for her. Anyone who dared hurt the other hunter would soon find themselves very dead, likely after significant torture.