The Darkest Kiss

Hurry. Find her, get to her.

How? he almost screamed. Reyes was in the States, New York City to be exact, and Aeron's signal was beeping from his phone as if the warrior were flying overhead. But Reyes didn't see or hear him. No flap of wings, no animalistic roar.

All day, news stations had run somber stories of unexplained and violent deaths, of bodies ravaged by claws and teeth that didn't belong to a human. Now Reyes stood on a crowded street, cars honking behind him, people milling along the sidewalk beside him.

Had Aeron already found her? Was he finally sleeping, relaxed and at ease after a month of constant bloodlust?

Reyes barely resisted the urge to grab a mortal and shake, demand, roar.

A body suddenly fell from the night sky, plopping on the ground in front of him. A man. A human. Bloody. Dead. Several people gasped. Some screamed. Muscles tensing, Reyes lifted his gaze skyward. Finally, he caught sight of Aeron, who was grinning down at him tauntingly, wings flapping furiously toward one particular building.

Reyes locked his eyes on his friend—his target—and leapt into motion.

DO I HAVE WHAT IT TAKES to kill?

Danika Ford stared at herself in the dented and chipped bathroom mirror. She'd once considered herself an artist, a painter of—mostly—beautiful things. Everything she'd looked at had been fodder for her art. People: the turn of a wrist, the elegant slope of a back. Animals: fluidity and grace. Flowers: delicate petals and sensual colors.

Now she considered herself a fighter. A survivor.

A—she gulped—killer.

She had to be.

Just over a month ago, she'd been kidnapped while on vacation in Budapest and held hostage by six hulking giants who'd wanted to kill her. They hadn't, though. They hadn't even hurt her, actually, but she'd never felt so helpless, so out of control and desperate. And she refused to feel that way again.

Ever.

Those giants were after her once more; she knew it. Which was why she changed her location every few days. No matter where she was staying, though, she found someone to train her in hand-to-hand combat. She also trained with knives, with guns, with anything she could get her hands on.

Today her newest instructor had knocked her on her ass and told her she lacked the killer instinct required to survive in a life-or-death situation.

Several hot tears rolled down her cheeks now, and she slammed her fist into the glass. It shook but didn't break. Am I so feeble? Maybe her instructor was right. And he didn't even know the half of it. One of her kidnappers, Reyes, still plagued her dreams. She didn't want to hurt him, dark, sensual man that he was. She wanted to kiss him, to finally know his taste, to finally feel his strong arms around her.

Every night she dreamed of him.

'I'm a sick woman.'

She stomped to her tiny rented bedroom, fell onto the mattress and picked up her disposable cell. Once she'd lived in a nice, average middle-class apartment, content, comfortable. Now she moved from shacks to motels to cardboard boxes to cars, poor and terrified, constantly looking over her shoulder.

Needing some reassurance, peace, something, she dialed her mother's own disposable cell number. Her entire family was in hiding—the four women separated to make the men's search more difficult—but they left their new numbers with friends and made sure to talk every day.

Her mom answered on the third ring, a sobbing rasp that instantly raised bile to the top of Danika's throat. 'What's wrong?' she rushed out.

'It's your grandmother…she's…she's…oh, God, baby.'

She was dead. Her grandmother was dead. 'Murdered?' she managed to get out.

'I don't know. I can't find her, haven't heard from her. She seems to have disappeared for good. I've been so worried about you.' Her mother sobbed, hiccupped.

Had Danika been standing, she would have collapsed. Rage skittered through her, even shuttered over her eyes. Rage and a strange kind of numbness, like she was standing in the middle of a dream and only needed to wake up. Wake up so that everything would be okay.

'You have to hide, baby. Please. I can't lose you, too.'

Glass shattered in another room.

Danika gasped, snapping out of that numbing rage, her heart missing a beat and squeezing painfully.

'What's wrong?' her mom demanded.

'I think they found me,' she whispered on a trembling breath. 'Hide, Mom. Wherever you are, run and hide. I love you.' Fighting terror-induced paralysis, she dropped the phone and stood to stiff legs. Oh, God. Her grandmother was most likely dead, and now she had been found. Weaponless. You knew better. Think, think! Legs shaking, stomach churning, she raced back into the bathroom and reached for the razor she kept on the sink.

Through the open door she could see a tall, muscled man stalk through the hallway, his wings scraping against the walls like fingers over a chalkboard. She nearly collapsed. Aeron. Aeron had found her. She remembered him well. His violent tattoos, his piercing gaze. If Reyes haunted her dreams, Aeron embodied her nightmares. He wasn't human, could fly like the dragons of myth, and was as fierce and deadly as any warrior of legend.

He paused in front of the bathroom doorway, sniffed the air. Blood spattered his face and stained his hands. Her grand-mother's?

Do something! Danika shocked herself by lunging for him, razor swinging for his throat. No killer instinct? She slashed at his jugular. If she failed to kill him, he would be free to attack her mother and sister—and that she wouldn't allow. Contact. Fresh blood instantly poured from the wound.

He didn't go down. He didn't fucking go down!

He turned toward her, grasping his neck and growling. His eyes blazed with red fire, and his teeth were elongated and snapping at her.

She held up the now-dripping razor. 'Want some more? Bastard!' she screamed. 'Come and get it!'

'Kill,' he roared. He grabbed her hair, jerking her forward.

Her nose smacked into his chest. A scream bubbled in her throat, but she quickly cut it off. First rule of combat: stay calm.

She allowed her legs to slacken and he lost his hold on her hair, several strands ripping free. She rolled to her back, curled her body and slammed her feet up and into his stomach. He stumbled backward with a hiss and smacked into the coffee table. Wood and glass shattered. He fell.

Always go for the throat, her instructor said in her mind. Best way to render them helpless. Eyes slitted, Danika climbed to her knees, closed the distance between them and punched him in the throat—right where she'd cut him—opening the wound further.

Rage built inside her to a desperate degree, and she punched him again.

He growled at her with those teeth so sharp they gleamed. 'Kill. Kill, kill, kill.'

'Fuck you.' Punch. Dear God. She could see the outline of something under his face. Something…dangerous, evil. A skeleton, a demon. It snarled at her, a bony mask of hate and darkness.

'Kill.'

She tried to punch him again, but he grabbed her hand and squeezed. That was it, just a simple squeeze, yet she felt some of the bones snap. A cry of pain escaped her.

And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Reyes burst through the front door and rush into the room. He was a blur of dark hair, dark skin and dark, furious eyes. His daggers were raised and he was panting, sweating.

'Reyes!' she shouted as Aeron stood, driving her to her back as he continued to squeeze her hand. Part of her wanted to sag in relief. Part of her wanted to run from him, too.

You can't rely on him. He helped kidnap you.

He saw her and froze. 'Danika.' He gasped her name with such reverence she was nearly felled.