“Of course I did,” she tried to plead. “I hoped that once you were truly committed to me—”
“Ah. You wanted a puppet you could lead around by the cock,” he sliced through her words, understanding at last.
Clearly Anya’s definition of love was beguiling a man until he was blinded by lust.
She dug her nails into his wrists as her legs began to sag. He was keeping her on the edge of death and her body was only minutes from a total collapse.
“And what about you?”
He shrugged. “I prefer not to be the puppet of an overly ambitious bitch.”
Any pretense of affection drained from the emerald eyes to reveal the bitter resentment that festered beneath the surface.
“I meant that you’re no better than me,” she hissed. “You had no intention of making me your queen.”
His laugh was mocking. “I promised you, didn’t I?”
“An empty promise.” Her head fell back, her skin becoming a pasty white as her magic faltered and the full impact of her injuries took their toll. “You’re willing to sacrifice anyone, including your own family, to achieve your goals. I have never doubted for a second that I would be as easily destroyed once I was no longer any use to you.” She gave an agonized laugh, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. “I could only hope to make myself indispensable.”
“Ah. No one is indispensable, Anya,” he taunted, his fingers tightening until her windpipe was crushed. “A pity.”
With the last of her strength, she reached up to rake her nails down his cheek.
“I’ll see you in hell,” she promised.
Zak heard the sound of the door opening behind him, and the muttered curse as the intruder caught sight of him ruthlessly squeezing out the last of Anya’s life. But his gaze never shifted from the emerald eyes, a smile touching his lips as he savored her slow death.
Yes. This was his finest talent.
And his greatest pleasure.
He heard the sound of metal scraping against leather as the man behind him drew a gun.
“What the f**k is going on here?” he growled, his voice not quite steady.
“Patience, cop,” Zak commanded, the dark power stirring deep inside him. “You’re next.”
Duncan wasn’t a sentimental kind of guy.
Or at least . . . he’d never thought of himself as sentimental. Not until Callie Brown.
Lying on his side, he studied the tiny female who was tucked next to him. He’d been awake for hours, enchanted by the sight of her sleeping in his arms.
The pale, delicate features. The fiery hair that reflected her indomitable spirit. The lush curve of her lips that hinted at her passion. And the slender body that held a strength that would have shocked most people.
He’d cared for Susan. He truly had.
But this woman . . .
She fit against him with absolute perfection. Like two puzzle pieces that had finally been assembled.
There, see?
Sentimental.
And something else. Something fiercely possessive and dangerously protective.
He grimaced, his fingers lightly stroking over her bare shoulder. Despite his assurances to Callie that he was prepared to deal with the inevitable prejudices, he was still anxious to put his fist in Frank’s face.
Friend or not, the man had no right to try and intimidate Callie. If he thought Duncan was making a mistake then he should have confronted him face to face. That he could respect. Not acting like a bully behind his back.
He gave a shake of his head, unwilling to mar the peace of this moment with such ugliness. There would be plenty of time later to worry about the rest of the world. For now it was just the two of them.
On the point of waking his sleeping beauty with a kiss, Duncan was caught off guard when she abruptly began to thrash against him, her tiny moans of distress piercing his heart.
“Callie. Sweetheart.” He sat up, pulling her tight against his chest.
She struggled against him, her breath coming in panicked gasps. “No . . . no.”
His hand pressed her head against his shoulder, his arms keeping her from tumbling off the bed.
“Callie, wake up.”
The low command in his voice seemed to do the trick. With a low moan she lifted her lashes, the brilliant clarity of her eyes clouded with a lingering horror.
“Duncan?”
He cupped her chin, brushing a soft kiss over her trembling lips.
“You were having a nightmare.”
“Yes,” she said slowly, a shudder wracking her body. “God, it was horrible.”
His lips moved to stroke her temple. “Do you want to share?” he asked. “Or just forget about it?”
“I was standing at the edge of Valhalla and—”
“Callie?”
“They were everywhere,” she said, bravely trying to swallow a choked sob.
“It’s okay.” His arms tightened around her at the feel of her trembling against him. “I’ve got you.”
“I couldn’t stop them.”
“Stop who?”
“The dead.”
His heart squeezed at her whispered words. Dammit. Couldn’t they leave her alone even in her sleep?
His hand ran a soothing path up and down her back. “Callie, it was just a dream.”
“No. Not just a dream.” She tilted back her head to reveal her troubled expression, her cheeks damp with tears. “It was real. A premonition.”
He ignored the cold chill that inched down his spine. No. He wasn’t going to start jumping at shadows.
They were both on edge. Wasn’t it more likely her dreams were a reaction to her stress rather than some omen?
He used his thumbs to brush away her tears. “Is seeing the future one of your skills?”
“No, but
“Then it was just a dream,” he insisted.
She sucked in a quivering breath. “It was my blood.”
“What?”
“It was my blood that called them from their grave.”
“Ssh.” He laid his cheek on top of her head, his hand reaching up to yank aside the curtain so the morning sunlight could spill over the bed. “Nothing is going to happen to you. Not as long as I have you in my arms.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Zak studied the small cut on his palm, fascinated as a drop of blood appeared only to vanish, reappearing in the chalice he’d left on the counter of his lab.
Inside he could feel the dark power that flowed through him like a river of ice. It was the same pulsing avalanche that threatened to sear the flesh from his bones ... and yet, different.