The Darkest Kiss

What the hell was wrong with him? Where was he? He didn't remember agreeing to play bondage games with…whatever her name was.

'Good. You're finally awake.'

He recognized that sweetly innocent voice, yet couldn't match it to a face. He frowned. White lights pulsed in front of him, and he blinked against them as his eyes watered. Last thing he remembered, he'd been kissing a woman. Her warm hazel gaze and brown hair finally flashed across his consciousness. Freckles, a plain face.

He'd been kissing this woman—what was her name?—and then he'd blacked out. Right?

'Paris,' she said, her voice laced with steel now. Suddenly she was crouching in front of him.

The plain face he'd just envisioned was here in the flesh. He scrubbed a shaky hand over his own face, trying to orient himself further. Chains rattled, pulling at his arm. Had she…surely not. She didn't have the strength to take him down.

Hunters must have attacked them.

'Did they lock us up?' His voice was craggy. There was a thick fog in his mind, and he was having trouble fighting past it. He'd been without sex for a while, which explained his weakness and the fact that he'd been overpowered.

'I locked you up,' she said with a sigh.

She had what now? Despite the brain-fog, he gave her his full attention. Her hair was pulled back in a severe twist. Her freckles were covered with makeup, and her eyes were enlarged by thick glasses.

He was rock hard for her in that instant. 'Why would you do something like that?'

'Can't you guess?' She reached out and tilted his head to the side, studying his neck. She traced a fingertip over a sore spot. Puncture wound, he realized, the answer to her question slipping into place.

'You're my enemy.' Even as his blood froze, his every cell leapt at her touch, greedy for more. But she didn't appear the least bit aroused by him. She was all business, plain and simple.

'Yes. The wound isn't healing,' she said with a frown. 'I didn't mean to jab you with the needle quite so forcefully. For that, I'm sorry.'

She was sorry? Please. Their kiss replayed in his mind. Her hot little tongue in his mouth…her breasts in his hands, small but sensitive…a sharp pain. His eyes narrowed on her. 'You tricked me. Played me like a piano.'

Again, 'Yes.'

'Why? And don't tell me you're Bait. You're not pretty enough.' He said it just to be cruel.

Her cheeks darkened to a rosy red, taking her from plain to the pretty he'd just denied in seconds. 'No, I'm not Bait. Or rather, I wouldn't have been to any warrior but you. But then, you don't care who you screw, do you, Promiscuity?' Every word dripped with disgust.

His gaze roved over her. 'Obviously not.'

The color in her cheeks deepened, and his cock hardened another inch. Down boy.

'Aren't you afraid I'll hurt you?' he asked silkily.

'No.' She arched a dark brow. 'You haven't the strength. I made sure of that.'

Don't antagonize her, idiot. Seduce her, get your strength back and blow this place. He forced his expression to soften, to glaze with passion. Sadly, he didn't have to force the passion. 'You enjoyed yourself while you were in my arms. Admit it. I know women, and I know passion. You were on fire for me.'

'Shut up,' she snapped.

Emotion. Excellent. 'Want to give me a go before your friends show up?'

She gnashed her teeth and straightened, widening the distance between them. Without her in his face, claiming his attention, he was able to study the room. Or rather, prison. Dirt floor, barred walls.

He snorted in disgust—a disgust reserved all for himself. He'd known better. He'd known to be careful, yet he'd been careless and stupid. He'd practically handed himself to the Hunters with a bow and a thank-you card. How the other warriors would laugh at him when they found out.

'So you're a Hunter, are you?'

'If by Hunter you mean a defender of all that is good and right and just, then yes.' Refusing to look at him, she removed her watch and showed him the tattoo of Infinity etched there. 'I've been fascinated with demons and their evil crimes my entire life—was always buying books about them, attending meetings and seminars. These men approached me about a year ago, asked me to join them. I said yes and I've never regretted it.'

The symbol should have sickened him; it always had before. This time, his tongue ached to trace the hated image. 'And what do you hope to do with me?' he asked. He wasn't panicked. Yet. Hundreds of years ago, he'd been cornered by Hunters. He'd managed to escape with only a few wounds.

This time would be no different; he'd make sure of it.

'We're going to experiment on you. Observe you. Use you as bait to capture more demons. And then, we're going to draw out your demon when we find Pandora's box, killing you and trapping the monster inside.' Once again, she was matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing what to eat for dinner.

His brow quirked. 'That it?'

'For now.'

'You might as well kill me, then, sweetheart. My friends won't surrender themselves to save little old me.' No, they'd kill everyone in this building.

'We'll see about that, won't we?' she said, defensive.

Stop antagonizing her. He needed to romance her, this enemy—by whatever means necessary. Once he climaxed inside her, he would have the strength to kill anyone who got in his path. Even her. Bitch.

Why couldn't he have been given the spirit of Violence, like Maddox? He wouldn't have had to rely on anything except anger to gain strength. Fucking demon of Promiscuity. It was nothing but a nuisance.

A few times, in desperation, the demon had forced him to turn to—don't think of that. Not now, not when you need to be aroused. 'Love,' he said, using his huskiest tone. 'I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings a moment ago. I was angry and lashing out at you.' He made sure to soften his expression again, to let his eyelids drift to half-mast, to let his lips relax as if preparing for a kiss.

She smoothed a hand over her mousy hair and looked down at her white tennis shoes. 'That's fine. I understand. You are a slave to your evil nature.'

She'd only been a Hunter for a year, she'd said. She was a baby, naive. Any other Hunter would have realized what he was doing and left him. Would have cursed at him, slapped him, not radiated a sense of vulnerability.

'I think you're lovely,' he said. Unfortunately, that was the truth.

'You're lying.'

'No. I was lying earlier, when I called you plain. The moment I saw you, I wanted you. I imagined your naked body on my bed, your head thrown back, your hands, oh, your hands—' His gaze sought them. Yes. They were as smooth and perfect as he remembered. 'Your hands seeking the moist heat between your legs, unable to wait for me to join you.'

As he spoke, he projected the images into her head. That was the only benefit to the demon. It could ride the undercurrents of his voice and enter a human's mind, showing the listener exactly what Paris described.

Most times, he hated to use the gift. The guilt afterward…He made people desire what they normally wouldn't desire, just as the demon did to him. But this woman was a Hunter, and she didn't deserve his concern.

'Don't—don't talk like that,' she whispered. A tremor racked her.

'When you're close to orgasm, I'll lick you. Right between your legs. You'll scream my name.'

Her breathing became choppy; her nipples hardened underneath her shirt—a white shirt that did nothing to hide the lace of her bra. An unexpected bit of femininity, considering she was dressed like a sexually repressed ice maiden. Why?

On her legs she wore unflattering black slacks that bagged, and her tennis shoes were clunky and mannish.

'I'm going to pound inside you all the way to the hilt, and then I'm going to flip over and you're going to ride me.'

'Don't say things like that,' she scolded breathlessly. She pulled at the collar of her shirt. 'You're evil, and…