He didn’t think about women. He thought about work. Always about his job. He was a demon hunter, and that was his life, his reason for existence. He wasn’t gifted with a normal life, a chance for relationships. . for love. That was for others, not for him.
He’d led an angelic life, a perfect existence. But he’d made one really bad mistake, and his penance had led him to find Lou and the Realm of Light. He’d done the only thing he could do-dedicated his life to fighting the Sons of Darkness and the demons under their control. Maybe someday he’d find forgiveness, get a second chance.
He knew better. He was never again going to be what he once was. And always, always, the darkness would live inside him.
Darkness and light, at war within. He looked at Isabelle, and sensed the same thing. Is that why he was so drawn to her, why he’d felt that instant rush when they touched?
He stood, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the effects of his daydream. He stared at the monitor. Isabelle was still framed there, staring off to sea.
Goddamn, he wanted.
No.
He knew why he was here. And it had never bothered him before. So what was it about Isabelle that struck him, made his gut tighten in unfamiliar ways?
He shook his head and forced himself to focus, leaning toward the monitor again. Isabelle pushed off from the doorway and moved to her luggage, finally unpacking her clothes and putting them away. She had another suitcase with a laptop, some loose papers, a binder, and a small box.
The box caught his eye right away, because it was padlocked. She picked it up, looked at it for a few minutes, then sat on the bed with it still in her hands.
“What have you got in there, Isabelle?” he whispered. “Show me.”
As if in response to his plea, she fished into her pocket and pulled out a key, unlocking the box.
Inside was a book. Isabelle put the box to the side and opened the book, reverently turning pages until she found a section, reading, then lingering on that page. She caressed the yellowed pages, moving her hands over them with such love and tenderness, Dalton could feel it.
Too bad this video equipment didn’t have a feature allowing him to pan in close enough to read what was written in that book.
So far she hadn’t said a word, just continued to read. The strange thing was, she wasn’t turning pages. Whatever interested her was on a single page.
But then she sniffed. Again. And wiped her hand across her face.
She was crying.
What the hell was she reading that would move her to tears?
She tilted her head back, scrunched her face into a frown, then opened her eyes, letting him see that it wasn’t grief that had made her cry.
It was pure and utter fury.
“Damn you, Mother!”
She threw the book across the room. It hit the wall with a hard thunk. Isabelle stared at it for a few seconds, then headed into the bathroom.
Dalton sat back, stunned.
What the hell was in that book?
CHAPTER SIX
Ryder hid his amusement throughout dinner and the several bottles of wine Angelique had coaxed him into drinking.
He had an uncanny tolerance for alcohol. It didn’t affect him. She didn’t know that, of course, and he didn’t share the information, especially since it was obvious she was trying to get him drunk.
For what reason, though? He didn’t suppose it was so she could have her way with him.
The mental visual made him tighten. Her on top, him buried to the hilt inside her, holding on to her hips as she rocked against him.
Shit. Where was he going with this train of thought besides nowhere? He tried not to think of Angie in a sexual way, though it was damn hard not to, especially since the two of them were alone.
Yeah, right. With his dick in charge, demons weren’t going to be high on the list. Especially when a sweet- smelling, beautiful woman was plying him with liquor.
A woman who wanted something.
She’d even been nice.
He preferred the contentious Angie over this stranger who’d smiled benignly through dinner, making innocuous conversation. The game had been fun for a while. He’d listened to her chatter on and on about everything and nothing, but after a couple hours and a lot of wine, they’d gotten nowhere. He thought maybe if she had more to drink, she’d start talking.
She hadn’t. Not about a worthwhile topic, anyway. And he’d just about reached his tolerance level of
