Give me answers, or I’ll kill you and move on to the next guy.” He let death show in his eyes, which was easy, because he spoke the truth.
The man’s dilating eyes widened. “Okay.”
“What’s the plan here?” Jase asked calmly.
The guy tried to swallow. “Ah, to take out Brenna Dunne.”
Jase’s hand tightened, and the guy started to flop like a beached fish. He loosened his grip. “What if you didn’t kill her today?”
“We’d come up with a new plan. The solstice is just three days away.” The guy blanched. “I’m sorry, but it’s necessary. She’s the plague—”
Jase crushed his larynx.
Standing up, he ignored the gasps around him and stalked toward the building.
“Jase?” Kane asked quietly.
Jase didn’t turn around when he answered his brother. “I’m fine—just want to check on Brenna.” He was already through the door when he heard Conn’s muttered statement. “He is
A quick shrug had Jase biting back an expletive. Damn shoulder. Sending more healing cells to the damaged tissue, he found the stairwell and jogged the many flights of stairs to reach Brenna’s penthouse. He paused outside the wide double door. They weren’t mated yet. He should probably knock.
He knocked, and Moira yanked open the door. “Everybody all right?”
“Yep.” He breezed by her and stopped. Brenna stood in a cozy living room, a full wall of windows behind her showcasing the River Liffey. The gray of the day matched her stunning eyes. “How many times have they tried to take you?”
She blinked and quickly recovered, edging closer to the fire crackling in the stone fireplace. “Excuse me?”
Moira whirled on her sister. “This wasn’t the first time? Are you kidding me?”
“This is the first time they’ve sent three squads of five,” Brenna said. She clasped her hands together. “Would you care to stay for supper, Jase?”
So she wanted a moment to think of a good story, did she? Fine. He needed to get rid of the blood, anyway. “I’d love to stay for supper.” He yanked off his destroyed sweatshirt. “May I use your shower first?”
She swallowed and pointed down a marble-lined hallway. “Of course. I’ll have Moira fetch some of Conn’s clothes from next door.”
“Fetch?” Moira sputtered. “Did you just say
Jase nodded. “This is what’s going to happen, Brenna. I’m going to take a shower, and then we’re going to talk about the CRAP group and the warrior group. You’re going to tell me everything. Then, we’ll decide what to do.” He paused at the edge of the foyer, his mind finally settling. “We’ll also discuss this mating business and negotiate our own terms. Regardless of our societies.”
“Good plan,” she murmured.
Glorious oil paintings created by Brenna lined the hallway. Her unique scent of vanilla and woman smacked him in the face when he entered her bedroom. Vivid jewel tones made up the bedclothes, and a sensual oil painting of two entwined silhouettes hung above the bed. Classy and sexy as hell.
His mind instantly spiraled back to his captivity and a similar painting. One of Brenna’s paintings had been hung in the room of a female demoness determined to mate Jase. That painting had grounded him—maybe saved him.
He stood, bleeding and battered, in the feminine bedroom. Brenna Dunne had most certainly saved him.
Now he’d save her.
Chapter 5
Brenna finished stirring the Crock-Pot stew. Steam rose and warmed her cheeks. Jase Kayrs was in her shower. Naked. Jase. Naked. She swallowed. He’d left the bathroom door open, so she’d taken a quick peek when placing the clothes on the bed. Steam had blocked her view. Darn it.
Okay. She was a grown-up and could handle a dinner with Jase. They were old friends. He’d be dressed for dinner, certainly.
As the good daughter, the dutiful daughter, she’d predictably had a thing for bad boys. And Jase Kayrs was the baddest of them all.
Figured she’d be attracted to him. She nodded. Acknowledging that fact would help her navigate the next couple of weeks. Attraction was good, considering they’d need to have sex to mate. She could handle this logically and with maturity.
A rustle sounded by the door, and she turned as he strode into the kitchen.
On all that was holy and strong. She gulped.
The man wore all black. Cargo pants, long-sleeved shirt, a talisman on a leather cord around his neck. His short hair was spiked, and a shadow covered his cut jaw. “Smells good.”
Since when did sex and danger go hand in hand? She needed to get a grip. “Thanks. Have a seat.” Turning back to the Crock-Pot, she ladled two bowls.
A chair scraped. “Where’s Moira?”
Brenna turned and delivered the dishes, sitting across from him at the round table. “I kicked her out.”
His cheek creased. “I don’t imagine that was easy.”
Pouring two glasses of cabernet, Brenna shrugged. “What is?”
“Good point.” Jase tasted the stew and both eyebrows rose. “You’re a good cook.”
Pleasure rippled through her. What a complete dork she’d become. “Thanks.” Her stomach fluttered, suddenly not hungry. At least, not hungry for stew.
They ate in silence for a while. Not exactly comfortable, but not horrible, either. Finally, Brenna placed her napkin over her bowl. “What’s the story of the talisman?” The iron-carved face showed a warrior with hard eyes.
Jase stilled and shifted his weight. “I traveled for a bit after I, ah, returned home. Met a shaman in Budapest who gave me the talisman, and I usually wear it under my shirt. It’s supposed to guard and protect warriors heading into battle.”
Now that was fitting. The man seemed so alone. “Are you heading into battle?”
His head rose along with his gaze. Dark, thoughtful, intense. “I never left it.”
Awareness chilled her skin. “Are you talking about the demons out there . . . or the ones in your head?” she asked softly, fighting the urge to touch him. To soothe him.
His short nod was filled with self-acknowledgment, and those copper eyes darkened. “Brenna, you’re a sweetheart, but don’t waste your time trying to save me.” He stood and took both empty bowls to the sink. “That last thing I want to do is hurt you—and I will.” He whispered the last.
She rolled her eyes even though a flutter cascaded through her abdomen. Condescension from the vampire was unnecessary. “I’m not as fragile as everyone thinks.”
He turned and leaned against the sink. Tall and broad, he dominated the small kitchen with the image of male. “You’re a nurturer, and a tempting one at that. But I don’t want to be saved.”
She stood and handed him his wineglass before turning for the living room to sit on the leather sofa. “We all want to be saved.”
His exhale sounded behind her before he followed and sat in the chair facing her. “Don’t read anything into this mating other than I want your skills. Any other thoughts or hopes are going to end badly for you.” He placed his wineglass on the sofa table and leaned forward. “I need to be honest with you, and you need to know what you’re getting into.”
Irritation heated her chest. “What I’m getting into? Don’t tell me. I’ll be mating an obsessed, wounded, scarred vampire who is damned determined to wipe out the demons and probably himself in the process.”
