control.
Dalton didn’t let her regain an ounce of that control. He flipped her over on her knees, her face against the sofa, and slid inside her with one swift thrust. She tilted her head back, embedded in sensation as he rolled his hips to give her the perfect angle.
He bent over her, his chest pressed to her back, and nibbled her ear.
“I love you, Isabelle.”
The words whispered were dark, inviting, his fingers threaded through her hair and pulling as he pushed.
“You’re mine. No matter what happens, you’re mine.”
Thrilled by his possession of her, she couldn’t speak, could only react with her body, pushing back against him with every move he made. Every time he sank into her, he drove his meaning home.
She was his. She would always be his, body, heart, and soul.
“Yes,” was all she could manage as he licked the column of her throat, his fingers tight in her hair, refusing to let her budge, possessing her in every way possible. He lifted her up and one hand covered her breast, surrounding her nipple and tweaking it with soft, measured strokes until she cried out with delight. He moved his hand down, over her ribs, her belly, stroking her hip and moving inward to cup her sex, rolling over the taut bud to massage the burgeoning ache that threatened to devour her from the inside out.
Gripping, swelling, she was only pleasure now. Whatever Dalton wanted from her she would gladly give. Lost in sensation, she was mindless against the assault of his body, his mouth, his teeth grazing her shoulder as his hand worked its magic along with the rhythmic strokes of his shaft. It was too much; unintelligible words spilled from her lips as she catapulted into orgasm. Dalton pressed tight against her and shuddered, going with her over that wave as they held together in a wild ride where nothing existed but the two of them.
When they collapsed against the sofa and the white light surrounded them, she felt no shock. This time, she was at peace with the knowledge that this man was something incredibly special.
And he was hers.
For as long as it lasted.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mandy sat in the corner of the seedy bar appropriately named The Bomb, scanning the activity around her, soaking in a bottle of beer and the atmosphere, and trying to avoid her own muddled thoughts.
Grounded. Banned from work. Michael thought she was frozen with fear and unable to pull the trigger.
Ha! Bullshit. She’d show Michael she could get the job done. All she had to do was find a demon. And what better place for a demon to hunt for victims than a bar that catered to the drunk and senseless? Easy to take them down when they weaved their way out of the club and into the parking lot.
She’d scouted all the hot spots over the past couple days. Nothing better to do, since Michael wouldn’t let her work-though she’d kept her eyes and ears on the pulse of Realm activity, so she knew what was going on. Through their investigations the hunters had discovered some strange attacks that could denote demon activity, both in this area and in others. Fortunately not yet as widespread as they’d feared, but definitely growing. Mandy had feigned disinterest, but oh, she’d been listening, especially when the report zeroed in to this area specifically. One body had been found a block from here, the corpse seemingly emaciated, as if it had been drained of every liquid. And finger marks were noted on the victim’s throat. Cause of death was listed as strangulation, but the Realm knew better. Mandy had snuck in and studied the files when Michael wasn’t around. It appeared another victim had turned up a few blocks away, right behind The Bomb’s sister club, The Shelter.
She rolled her eyes at the irony of the name. Hadn’t provided much shelter for the poor dead victim, had it? Autopsy reports indicated hard-pressed impressions of fingers on the throat, including puncture wounds, which the police surmised were caused by some kind of small tool like an ice pick.
Or a demon’s sharp claws, but the coroner hadn’t guessed that, unsurprisingly.
So there she sat in her perfect spot in the darkened corner, her gaze pouring over every table, every patron seated at the long, scarred bar, searching out anyone who just might fit a demon’s profile. She picked out what she thought might be a few suspicious characters, and kept an eye on them. Tall, dark, and handsome types who seemed cold and aloof, with the kinds of smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Then again, that could be just a normal guy thing. How would she know? Still, worth a try anyway. She did her best to throw off signals that made herself approachable, but not too easy. And she made it appear as if she’d been drinking. A lot.
Which in the eyes of a demon looking for food made her prey.
When one of those types approached her, she leaned back in the booth and propped one of her booted feet up on the threadbare vinyl seat.
“You alone?” he asked.
“You blind?” She shot it back dripping with sarcasm, not wanting to appear too available.
Not at all deterred by her attitude, he slid into the booth alongside her and held out his hand. “I’m John.”
How nondescript. She slid her hand in his, noting the icy cold fingers barely touching hers before he pulled away.
“So what are you doing here tonight, Mandy?”
She decided she’d play it like a woman who’d just gotten dumped and was looking to rebound in a hurry with some anonymous guy. She gave him a half smile. “Getting drunk, John. What about you?”
He lifted his beer. “Same. Not much action, though.”
She gazed around the bar. “It’s a slow night. Are you looking for some action?” She made a point of giving him the once-over, hoping she could fake some glimmer of attraction.
“Who wouldn’t be? You’re gorgeous.”
She took a drink of her beer to hide her grimace, then forced a smile afterward. “Thanks. You’re not so bad looking yourself.”
“You wanna dance?” he asked.
Someone must have pumped a couple quarters in the jukebox, because there seemed to be music playing. Really lousy music.
“Uh, sure.” She stood and followed him across the floor, stomping on cracked peanut shells on the way. He held out his hands and she stepped into his arms, trying not to shudder in revulsion when he touched her.
God, he was cold. And it was like ninety degrees outside, not much cooler in the bar. These demons were going to have to do a better job of masking the chill factor.
He laid his cheek against hers. “You smell really nice. Like vanilla.”
“Thanks.”
“Your skin is soft, too.”
Is this what went on between the opposite sexes, this lame search for something romantic or sexy to say? If it was, she realized she hadn’t been missing a damn thing all these years.
“I bathe regularly. Glad to know it’s effective.” Really, she was at a loss here. All she wanted to do was kill this thing, not make a date.
The killing part took front and center when he grabbed her ass and pulled her against what appeared to be a rather sizeable erection.
Now he really was going to have to die.
Plastering on what she hoped was her sexiest smile, she leaned back. “Got something in mind?”
“I think you know I do.”
“Sounds great. Let me go pay the tab and I’ll be right behind you.”
She let her lips brush his. “I’m counting the seconds.”
She turned on her heel and went out the door, stalking to her car, shuddering off the effects of that thing touching her. She clicked the remote on the SUV and went straight for the backseat, climbed in and left the door
