Ecstasy in Darkness (Alien Huntress #5)(8)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Cranky as the vampire now?”

Muttering curses at each other, they settled into the front of the car. He heard one of them push a series of buttons on the dash. A second later, the air conditioner blasted. Before either female could program the car to return to AIR, however, McKell froze them in place. And this time, he didn’t bother releasing them every few hours to keep them from suspecting he was manipulating them. He simply allowed the hours to pass, the sun rising, heating, ruining what should have been the best part of the day.

Hour after hour after hour passed, washing him in gold, then orange, then a hazy pink. Finally, blessedly, that hated sun began to wane, dulling even the pink light seeping through the fabric of the blanket. By the time darkness once again surrounded him, the stun had worn off, freeing his muscles from immobility.

Vengeance.

Scowling, McKell tossed the blanket aside. A moment ticked by as his gaze accustomed itself to the open space. He saw that Ava and Noelle were in their seats, Noelle’s hand raised to push more buttons, Ava’s deep in a bag, as if she’d been digging through the contents.

What had she been searching for?

He couldn’t lean forward and check as he wanted. Clear, impenetrable shield-armor divided the front and back of the car. That wouldn’t be a problem, but breaking through it would take longer than he was willing to spend. He glanced at the door beside him. No handles.

The car, he knew, would only obey Ava and Noelle’s commands. If they said, “Open,” the door would pop open automatically, since it was programmed to recognize and obey their voices, but he wasn’t about to free either female yet. At the moment, surprise was his best friend. So McKell did the only thing he could—he kicked the door off its hinges and unfolded from the backseat, a move that allowed him to exit just as quickly as if the car had catered to his voice.

Cool night air wafted around him, bringing with it the scents of pine, night birds, and seductive moonlight. He stretched, his abused body protesting every movement, and that intensified his anger.

So angry was he, in fact, that he slashed his claws into Ava’s door with more force than necessary, letting them embed deeply before ripping the offending block out of the way. The metal soared over his shoulder, landing with a heavy thud behind him. Then Ava was in front of him, nothing preventing him from ripping her out, as well.

“I warned you,” he growled at her, even though he knew she couldn’t hear him. “Easy or hard, and you picked hard.” Rather than slash her to pieces, however, he crouched beside her and grabbed the bag.

Motions still stiff, he rifled through the contents. Different sized blades. A badge that read “Agent in Training.” His eyes widened. In training? She was merely in training? AIR had sent a child after him? God, the insult. Almost enough to send him racing to their base, destroying every brick, every human inside, just to prove that he could.

Don’t lose focus. He could rant about their insolence later.

Teeth grinding, he continued his search of little Ava’s bag. Lastly, he found “butterscotch”-flavored lipgloss. Butterscotch. Not something he was familiar with.

He twisted the cap and sniffed the contents, and his mouth instantly watered. That’s what Ava smelled like. Sugary, warm, and toasted in the sun. All the things he suddenly wanted to be. The desire was foreign, unwelcome, and not to be tolerated. He wasn’t some callow youth, so easily swayed by sexual urges. He’d had countless lovers over the centuries, and knew how fleeting those urges could be. How meaningless. He couldn’t even recall a face or a name of one of the women who had warmed his bed. Cold of him, perhaps, but for a man with his sense of possession, he had always purposefully maintained distance in that area of his life.

He stuffed Ava’s gloss in his pocket—to torment her with its loss, he told himself, and not because he wanted a reminder of her, of her scent, of the hunger she elicited—then tossed the bag and the rest of its contents behind him. Then he focused on Ava.

Her curls fell over her shoulders, shiny and—he pinched several between his fingers—soft as ocher velvet. Moonlight caressed her, turning her flawless skin to liquid gold. He traced the back of his knuckle along the curve of her cheek, far more gently than he’d meant. That, too, was soft. Would be a shame to mar her, he decided, then frowned. She was already marred. There were several scars running the length of her arms, and many crisscrossing her hands.

He lifted each hand, studying. Too many scars for such a young, “in training” agent. Besides, though some of those scars were clearly newer than others, none were pink and fresh. Which meant she’d been fighting most of her obviously short life. McKell wasn’t sure if that disturbed him, aroused him, or amused him.

Scowling again, he slid one arm around her lower back and one under her legs. He carried her a short distance from the car and lay her down, careful, so careful not to jostle. He did the same with Noelle, only he dropped her flat on her ass. Why the difference in treatment, he didn’t know. Didn’t care to ponder. Then he proceeded to rip the vehicle to pieces, just as he’d promised to do to the girls, piling the remains around them, forming a wall. A reminder of their failure with him.

When he finished, he was panting, covered in a sheen of perspiration, his anger somewhat dimmed. Still. He was tracing his tongue over his fangs, some other unnameable emotion humming inside him as he rejoined the humans and removed their clothing. Noelle was first, and he stripped her without pause. Ava, however, he found himself lingering over, every new inch revealing a deeper appreciation of her femininity and his wavering restraint.

White lace bra. Front clasp. Nice. Her br**sts were lush, with ni**les that were the color of honey-dipped apples. Her belly was flat, with a navel that hollowed perfectly. A tongue could lose itself in that navel. White lace underwear. Ribboned on the sides. Only needed a tug to unlace them … Really nice. Her thighs were firm, the apex guarded by a tiny triangle of amber curls.

When he finished, he realized pure temptation lay before him.

She’s human, he reminded himself. Weak, withering. Food.

Still. He couldn’t leave her naked, he decided. If she were to stumble upon a male, that male would want her. Obviously. That male would probably try to “hit on her,” as the humans said. She would rebuff him. McKell knew this only because the thought of her accepting returned the plumes of rage. And when her tart tongue finished rebuffing, the male would fight her, as pride demanded. The two would roll around on the ground, and the male’s penis might accidentally slip inside her. McKell couldn’t risk it. Not because he cared who the woman slept with, that wasn’t why he raged, he rationalized, but because, again, she didn’t deserve pleasure. Not that she’d find pleasure from her attacker.