Dance with the Devil (Dark-Hunter #4)(6)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

The wolf barked at him twice, then turned and went to his owner.

"There you are," she whispered, kneeling to pet it. "You shouldn’t bark, Sasha. You’ll wake our guest."

"I’m awake and I’m sure that’s why he’s barking."

She turned her head toward him as if she were trying to see him. "I’m sorry. We don’t get much company and Sasha tends to be a little antisocial with strangers."

"Believe me, I know the feeling."

She walked toward the bed, again with her hand outstretched. "How do you feel?" she asked, patting his shoulder as she located him.

Zarek cringed at the sensation of her warm hand on his flesh. It was gentle. Searing. And it made a foreign part of him ache. But worst of all, it made his groin hard. Tight.

He’d never been able to stand anyone touching him.

"I’d rather you not do that."

"Do what?" she asked.

"Touch me."

She pulled back slowly and blinked methodically as if it were more habit than reflex. "I see by touch," she said softly. "If I don’t touch you, I’m completely blind."

"Yeah, well, we all have problems." He scooted to the opposite side of the bed and rose to his feet. He was bare except for his leather pants and a few bandages. She must have undressed him and treated his wounds. That thought made him feel rather strange. No one had ever bothered caring for him before when he’d been wounded.

Why would she?

Even Acheron and Nick had left him to his own devices after he’d been hurt in New Orleans. The best they’d offered was a ride home so that he could heal in solitude.

Of course, they might have offered him more had he been a little less hostile toward them, but hostility was what he did best.

Zarek found his clothes folded on a rocking chair by the window. In spite of the painful protests of his muscles, he started pulling them on. His Dark-Hunter powers had allowed him to heal for the most part while he slept, but he wasn’t in as good a shape as he would have been had the Dream-Hunters helped him. They often came to injured Dark-Hunters to heal them during their sleep, but not Zarek.

He scared them as much as he scared everyone else.

So, he’d learned to take his hits and deal with the pain. Which was fine by him. He didn’t like people, immortal or otherwise, anywhere nearby.

Life was better alone.

He grimaced as he caught sight of the hole in the back of his shirt where the shotgun blast had struck him.

Yup, life was definitely better alone. Unlike his "friend," he couldn’t shoot himself in the back even if he wanted to.

"Are you up?" the unknown woman asked, her voice surprised. "Dressing?"

"No," he said irritably. "I’m pissing on your rag. What do you think I’m doing?"

"I’m blind. For all I know you really are peeing on my rag, which is a very nice rag incidentally, so I hope you’re kidding."

He felt a strange twinge of amusement at her comeback. She was fast and smart. He liked that.

But he had no time to waste. "Look, lady, I don’t know how you got me in here, but I appreciate it. However, I have to get going. Believe me, you’ll be very sorry if I don’t."

She pushed herself off the bed at his hostile words and it was only then he realized he’d growled them at her.

"There’s a bad blizzard outside," she said, her voice less friendly than it had been before. "No one is going to be able to go anywhere for a while."

Zarek didn’t believe it until he parted the curtains on her window. The snow was falling so fast and thick that it looked like a dense white wall.

He cursed under his breath. Then louder he asked, "How long has it been doing this?"

"The last few hours."

He ground his teeth as he realized he was stuck here.

With her.

This was really not good, but at least it would keep the others from tracking him. With any luck the snow would disguise his trail and he knew for a fact that Jess hated the cold.

As for Thanatos, well, given his name, language, and looks, Zarek would peg him as an ancient Mediterranean, too, and that meant Zarek still had an advantage over both of them. He’d learned centuries ago how to move quickly over the snow and what dangers to avoid.

Who could have known that nine hundred years in Alaska would actually pay off someday?

"How can you be up and moving?"

Her question startled him. "Excuse me?"

"You were severely injured when I brought you in a few days ago. How can you be moving now?"

"A few days?" he asked, stunned by her words. He ran his hand over his face and felt his thick whiskers. Shit. It had been days. "How many?"

"Almost five."

His heart pounded. He’d been here for four days and they hadn’t found him? How was that possible?

He frowned. Something about that didn’t seem right.

"I thought I felt a gun wound on your back."

Ignoring the gaping hole in the shirt, Zarek pulled his black undershirt on over his head. He was sure it’d been Jess who had shot him. Shotguns were the cowboy’s weapon of choice. His only consolation was the thought that Jess was aching from it as much as he was. Unless Artemis had lifted her ban. Then the bastard would feel nothing but satisfaction.

"It wasn’t a gun wound," he lied. "I just fell."

"No offense, but you’d have to fall off Mount Everest to have those kinds of wounds."

"Yeah, maybe next time I’ll remember to take my climbing gear with me."

She scowled at him. "Are you mocking me?"

"No," he answered honestly. "I just don’t want to go into what happened."

Astrid nodded as she tried to discern more about this angry man who couldn’t seem to speak without growling at her. Awake, he was far from pleasant.

He’d been near death when Sasha had found him. No one should be so badly beaten and shot, and then left for dead as he had been.

What had the Squires been thinking?

She was amazed the rogue Dark-Hunter could stand at all even after four days of rest.

Such treatment was inhumane and unbecoming of those who had sworn to protect mankind. Had a human found Zarek, his cover would have been even more blown by their carelessness, and the humans would have learned of his immortality.

It was something she fully intended to report to Archeron.

But that would come later. For now, Zarek was up and moving. His immortal life or death rested completely in her hands and she intended to test him fully to see just what kind of man he was.

Did he have any compassion left inside him or was he just as empty as she was?

Her job was to be the epitome of the things that drove Zarek to anger. She would push him to the heights of his tolerance and beyond to see what he would do.

If he could control himself with her, she would judge him safe and sane.

If he lashed out to hurt her in any way, she would judge him guilty and he would die.

Let the tests begin…

She ran through her mind what little she knew about him. Zarek didn’t like to talk to people. He didn’t like the rich.

Most of all, he hated to be touched or ordered about.

So she decided to press his first button with idle conversation.

"What color is your hair?" she asked. The seemingly innocuous question made her memory flash to the way it had felt under her hand as she had bathed the blood from it.

His hair had been soft, smooth. It had slid sensuously through her fingers, caressing them. From the feel of it, she knew it wasn’t too short or too long, but probably fell to his shoulders when styled.

"Excuse me?" He sounded surprised by her question and for once didn’t growl the words at her.

He had a beautiful voice. Rich and deep. It resonated with its Greek accent, and every time he spoke, it sent a strange chill through her. She’d never heard any man who had a voice so innately masculine.

"Your hair," she repeated. "I was wondering what color it is."

"Why do you care?" he asked belligerently.

She shrugged. "Just curious. I spend a lot of time alone and though I don’t really remember what colors look like, I try to picture them anyway. My sister Cloie gave me a book once that said every color had a texture and feel. Red, for instance, it said was hot and bumpy."

Zarek frowned at her. This was an odd conversation, but then, he’d spent enough time alone to understand the need to talk about anything to anyone who would stand still long enough to bother. "It’s black."

"I thought so."

"Did you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She nodded as she rounded the bed and came a little too close to him. She stood so close that their bodies almost touched. He felt an odd impulse to touch her. To see if her skin was as soft as it appeared.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Her body was lithe and tall, her br**sts a perfect handful. It’d been a long time since he had last screwed a woman. An eternity since he had been this close to one without tasting her blood.

He swore he could taste hers now. Feel her heartbeat pounding against his lips as he drank from her while her emotions and feelings poured into him, filling him with something other than numbness and pain.

Even though drinking human blood was forbidden, it was the only thing that had ever given him pleasure. The only thing that buried the pain inside him and allowed him to experience hopes, dreams.

The only thing that allowed him to feel human.

And he wanted to feel human.

He wanted to feel her.

"Your hair was cool and silky," she said softly, "like midnight velvet."

Her words made his c**k tighten with need and lust.

Cool and silky.

It made him think of her legs sliding against his. Of the delicate, feminine skin that would cover her bu**ocks and thighs. The way they would feel against his legs as he pounded himself into her.

His breathing ragged, he imagined what it would be like to peel her tight, faded jeans down her long legs and spread them wide. To run his hand through her short, crisp hairs until he could touch her intimately, stroking her until her sweet juices coated his fingers as she murmured in his ear and rubbed herself against him.

What it would be like to lay her down on the bed behind her and sink himself deep inside her warm, wet heat until they both cli**xed.

To feel her mouth on his body.

Her hands groping him.

She reached out to touch him.

Unable to move from the force of his fantasy, Zarek stood perfectly still as she placed her hand on his shoulder. The smell of woman, smoke, and roses permeated him and he felt a desperate need to bend down, bury his face against her creamy skin, and just inhale her sweet scent. To sink his fangs into her soft, tender neck and sample the life force inside her.

Unconsciously, he opened his lips, baring his fangs.

The need for her was almost overwhelming.

But not nearly as demanding as the desire to touch her body.

"You’re taller than I thought you’d be." She traced the curve of his upper biceps. Chills rushed over him as he hardened even more.

He wanted her. Badly.

Bite her…

Her wolf growled.

Zarek ignored it as he continued to stare at her.

His affairs with women had always been kept brief and hurried. Never once had he allowed a woman to face or touch him while they had sex.

He’d always taken his women on all fours from behind, furious and quick like an animal. He’d never wanted to spend any time with them other than what he needed to sate his body.

Yet he could easily envision taking this stranger into his arms and screwing her, face to face. Of feeling her breath on his skin as he rode her slow and hard all night long and drank from her…

He didn’t speak as she skimmed her hand down his arm and he couldn’t imagine why he didn’t shove her away from him.

For some reason, she held him immobile with her touch.

His heavy groin burned with vicious need. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was turning him on on purpose.

But there was an innocence in her touch that told him she only wanted to "see" him. There was nothing sexual in this.

At least not from her end.

Zarek stepped away from her and put a good four feet of distance between them.

He had to.

One more minute and he would have her nak*d on that bed and at his mercy…

Not that he had any mercy for anyone.

She dropped her hand and stood still as if waiting for him to touch her.

He didn’t. One touch and he would be the animal everyone thought he was.

"What’s your name?" The question was out before he could stop himself.

She offered him a friendly smile that made his groin jerk. "Astrid. And yours?"

"Zarek."

Her smile widened. "You are Greek. I thought so by your accent."

Her wolf circled around her feet and sat down next to her to eyeball him. It flashed its teeth threateningly.

He was really beginning to hate that animal.

"Can I get you anything, Zarek?"

Yes, crawl nak*d into that bed and let me ravish you until dawn.

He swallowed at the thought and his groin tightened even more at the sound of his name on her lips.

He couldn’t have been any harder if she had been stroking him with her hand.

Her mouth…

What was wrong with him? He was on the run for his life and all he could think of was sex?