Surrender to Darkness Page 26

  A physical being that, coincidentally, made his mouth water.

  “This helmet is heavy,” she said, turning. She was lost inside, only her eyes visible.

  “You look lovely,” he said, sincerely. Roses were overrated. He preferred a soft, glorious, unabashed peony.

  Her eyes crinkled into half-moons. “Thank you.”

  Donning his own helmet and a pair of leather gloves, he straddled the bike. Using the strength of his thighs, he lifted the heavy cruiser off the kickstand. “Up you get, then. On the seat behind me.”

  She swung a leg over the back, then scooted forward until her pelvis was snug against his buttocks. Her arms wrapped around his waist, belting his loose T-shirt to his body. “Ready.”

  His heart was thudding like a drum in his chest.

  To be fair, it wasn’t just her breasts pressing against his back that was driving him crazy. Her fingers were tracing every bump and indent in his abs. Slowly. Accompanied by a faint hum of approval.

  He covered her wicked hand with his.

  “Lass, don’t be cruel.”

  “It’s my intention to seduce you,” she said.

  He chuckled. “Very sporting of you to warn me. But if you keep doing that, I can’t be responsible for keeping the bike on the road.”

  Her fingers ceased their torment.

  “I wish things were different,” she said, relaxing against him with a sigh.

  Not sure what to make of that sentiment, he thumbed the starter and brought the cruiser to deep, rumbling life. Wishing had never proven a productive pastime for him. He was more of a make-it-happen fellow. Lately, though, life hadn’t been very cooperative.

  Putting the bike in gear, he throttled up the 1600 cc engine and zoomed past the Audi, out of the garage, and down the long drive. Unfortunately, the cruiser ate up the tarmac in a remarkably short time. He’d barely grown accustomed to the visceral vibration of the parallel twin engine when they arrived at the gate.

  Pausing briefly to check on Kiyoko, who gave him a thumbs-up, he spurred the bike back toward the house with a satisfying roar.

  His bike, his woman, and an open road.

  Did life get much better?

  As he neared the large pine tree that marked the split of the driveway between the garage and the house, he spotted a group huddled in front of the house. Webster, MacGregor, and Emily. Engaged in a heated discussion.

  Veering right, he circled the rock garden and drew to a halt in front of the porch.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, as he tugged off his helmet and eyed the group.

  “Where the hell have you been all morning?” Webster asked.

  Murdoch didn’t respond. Instead, he helped Kiyoko off the bike, then dismounted. “Someone want to tell me what’s up?”

  “Azazel isn’t dead.”

  Murdoch met Webster’s gaze. “I ran him through with my own hand,” he said softly, daring the other man to dispute his claim.

  “Well, you should have decapitated him. According to Uriel, a fallen angel can survive a sword through the heart.”

  Murdoch glanced at Emily, searching for the truth.

  She nodded. “But he never said taking Azazel’s head off was the answer. In fact, he kinda suggested no amount of body damage will finish him off.”

  “So, the solution must be mystical,” Kiyoko said.

  “Problem is,” Webster said, “the blanket spell Stefan put over the ranch prevents us from using magic.”

  “Then we’ll have to get rid of it.”

  “That will be damned hard without Stefan,” Murdoch said. “And no one’s had any luck prying the wretch out of that bloody trailer.”

  The group was silent for a moment.

  Then Emily said, “I bet Sora could do it.”

  Murdoch arched a brow. “What? Convince Stefan to exit, or disarm the spell?”

  “The spell.”

  He turned to Kiyoko. “What do you think? Could he do it?”

  “He’s a gifted mystic. It’s possible.”

  “Getting rid of the blanket spell works both ways,” MacGregor reminded them. “For us and for the demons. Before we disarm it, we need to know exactly how we’re going to take down Azazel.”

  “I have something that might help,” Emily said. She opened to hand to reveal a shard of the Shattered Halo. “He’s an angel, right? So this should flatten him, like it flattened Uriel. If we can figure out how to use it.”

  Webster’s gaze lifted from the shard to Murdoch’s face, then slid away. “We need that spell book. The one we found on the body of that thrall demon last summer.”

  “The Book of Judgment.” Lena descended the porch steps cradling a swaddled Katie in her arms. She passed the baby to MacGregor, who immediately melted from hardened warrior into beaming father. “Stefan has it.”

  Murdoch snorted. “Of course.”

  “Christ. That pretty much ixnays using the Shattered Halo,” Webster said grimly. “Too bad. It was a great idea, Em.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed and offered him the shard. “Maybe you should take it, to keep it safe.”

  Webster raised both hands and backed away. “Hell, no. Don’t give the damned thing to me. In fact, I don’t think any of the Gatherers should take it. You hold on to it.”

  Murdoch grimaced. Leaving it with Emily was no guarantee that Death wouldn’t get her hands on it. “Are we confident that Azazel’s not on the ranch right now? We just opened the doors to seventy-two strangers.”

  “I did a quick read of everyone as they arrived,” Emily said, pocketing the shard. “No sign of him.”

  “She’s going to check every couple of hours,” Webster said. “With any luck, we’ll figure out how to torch his ass before he returns. But you can bet on one thing—he’ll be back.”

  “I’ll run through my repertoire of shade spells,” MacGregor said. “I hate to use them, but I will if I must.”

  “No.” Lena surged forward, her body rigid with indignation. “No shade spells. Trading material objects for magic power does too much damage to the fabric of the plane. And if you succumb to their lure, it won’t be long before you find justification for using the void spells that sacrifice human souls.”

  “I agree,” Kiyoko said.

  “I applaud your fine principles.” MacGregor looked down on the sleeping face of his infant daughter. “But with no mage and no spells more powerful than the simple entity spells generated by our own passions, we haven’t got a prayer.”

  “You don’t need to be here,” Webster said. “Take Rachel and the baby and get the hell out of Dodge.”

  “I’ll keep that option open,” MacGregor said, his resolute face a direct contradiction to his words.

  “Don’t let your pride hold you here, mo charaid,” Murdoch added quietly. “Were it my wife and daughter, I’d bear jokes about my cowardice clear into the next century if it meant keeping them safe.”

  MacGregor’s gaze met his.

  “Webster and I can handle the trainees for a few days,” Murdoch said. “This is the easy stuff: Basic footwork and guard positions, physical fitness, and a couple of essential defense spells. You don’t start the sparring until week two. Besides, someone needs to break the news to the Protectorate that the Veil actually exists. It might as well be you.”

  The other man nodded, finally convinced. “I’ll have to drag Rachel away kicking and screaming. She’ll no’ be happy about leaving Emily behind.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Emily said quickly.

  “No,” MacGregor agreed with a faint smile. “You’ll stay. Convincing your mother about that will take some work, though. It’s your sixteenth birthday tomorrow.”

  Kiyoko followed Murdoch back to the garage, leapt up on the tool bench, and watched him stow the bike and helmets. The play of his muscles beneath his loose T-shirt fascinated her. “What does mo carriage mean?”

  He opened the locker. “ ‘My friend.’ ”

  “It’s Scottish?” />
  He nodded. “Gaelic. Hardly anyone speaks the language now, but in MacGregor’s time it was the tongue of the Highlands.”

  “MacGregor’s time?”

  “Did I not mention he was once a Gatherer? He was born in the fifteenth century.”

  Kiyoko stared at him, confused. “How can anyone once be a Gatherer? Aren’t you all dead?”

  “Aye,” he said, tucking his gloves inside his helmet and sliding it onto the top shelf of the locker. “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say he earned his soul back and is now a human.”

  “Can you do that as well? Earn your soul back?”

  “Unlikely. His was a special case. The rest of us will be content if our souls escape the fiery ravages of hell.” He looked up then, pinning her with his gaze. A rare note of regret hovered in the dark depths. “I’m sorry that I failed you, lass. I thought I’d rid you of a demon stalker, but it seems I’ve only made the bastard more dangerous by driving him underground.”

  “How could you have known?” she asked softly. “Are you clairvoyant, as well as handsome and talented?”

  “Lord, you’ve resorted to flattery. That can’t bode well.” He closed the locker and held up her ballet flats. “Did you want to change your shoes?”

  “No. I think I’ll keep these boots.”

  He arched a brow. “Oh?”

  “Lena won’t need them any longer, as she will not be taking any further rides on your bike.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll let her know.”

  Jumping down, she crossed the oil-stained cement floor to his side. She flattened her palm on the broad expanse of his chest, reveling in the firm contours under her fingers. “And to make sure you don’t offer rides to any other women, I’ve decided to claim you as my man.”

  “About bloody time.”

  “For now.”

  He reached for her hand, as if fearing she might pull away, but caught himself before he made skin contact. “What do you mean for now?”

  “In less than a month, I’ll be returning to Japan.”

  “Unless I can convince you to stay.”

  Lifting her chin, she gave him a serious look. “I know my path, Murdoch. I do not mean to diminish what we have, but you are merely a detour on my larger journey.” His lips thinned, and she added, “As I am but a detour on yours.”

  “I would never slur a woman by labeling her a detour.”

  “A joyous interlude, then. An oasis in the desert. How we describe this time doesn’t matter.” The beat of his heart was strong and steady under her hand, like the man himself. Despite his talk of having many women, she had never doubted Murdoch’s ability to be true. “Once I transcend and free myself from the Veil, the bond we share will be severed.”

  “And good riddance to it.”

  She stiffened. “What?”

  “It’s been nothing but a nightmare,” he said grimly.

  “I thought you said you enjoyed the dreams.”

  His hands slid over her hips and around the curves of her bottom. With little more than a twitch, he lifted her up his body until her pelvis mashed into his. Hot and hard.

  She wrapped her legs around him.

  “Dreams, no matter how good they feel, are no substitute for reality,” he said. “My bloody balls ache with the need to take you. I want to touch you freely, without the threat of the berserker hanging over my head. I want to test out every sensitive spot on your body that the dreams have shown me and listen to you moan in my ear. I want to taste your breasts in my mouth, enjoy the ragged breaths that escape your lips as I sink into you, and view the flush in your cheeks as I bring you to release.”

  Kiyoko’s breaths were already ragged.

  “Although,” he added, grinding against her in slow, delicious circles, “I fear the agony of the wait will prove my undoing when the moment arrives.”

  “Modern English”—the seam of her jeans struck the perfect spot and her eyes closed—“please, Murdoch.”

  “I won’t last.”

  “Okay,” she said breathlessly. “But don’t stop.”

  A growl of frustration tore from his throat. He maneuvered them over to the Audi and yanked open the back door. “Damn it. Bloody baby seat.”

  His distraction curtailed the thrusts of his hips, and Kiyoko dug her fingers into the sinews of his upper shoulders. “Don’t. Stop.”

  “Fuck.” He bent her over the trunk of the car. “Apologies in advance for any bruises, lass.”

  Then he proceeded to slay her. With a single-minded dedication to eliciting every variety of moan and groan, he coaxed her body to the very pinnacle of ecstasy. Every press of his body brought new shivers of delight, every muttered endearment new thrills. And his hands were willing participants in the siege. One palmed her braless breast through her shirt, the other squeezed her ass.

  It was like being a teenager all over again.

  Only with a partner who knew precisely what he was doing.

  “Oh,” she gasped, as his mouth latched onto her breast, hot and damp through the T-shirt. His teeth found her nipple just as his hips pumped against her. The ripples combined to form a perfect storm of sensation and, with a hoarse cry of his name, she flew apart.

  As the shudders of pleasure coursed through her body, his movements gentled, but did not completely stop.

  The muscles of his back undulated under her hands, and she desperately wanted to reach under the hem of his shirt to feel the hot satin of his flesh. To feel the real Murdoch, not just the dream. But she could not and would not invoke the berserker. Not now. Not today. This moment belonged to her and Murdoch alone, and it had to last a lifetime.

  She buried her face in his hair.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Murdoch froze.

  Had she truly said what he thought she said?

  He was awfully tempted to ask, but the incredulity in his voice might give her the wrong impression. How could she love a man who tossed her over the boot of a car and coaxed a release from her without so much as a dinner date? A man who had near crushed her to death in a bed of thyme? A man who admitted to killing his fiancée? Hell, a man who was no longer even a man, just a soulless sinner. Was she crazy?

  “Get up, Murdoch,” she said, pushing at his shoulders.

  He rolled away from the car, suddenly conscious of his weight. “Are you all right?” he asked warily.

  She smiled. “I’m great. That was nice. Thank you.”

  Nice? Nice? She blew his world apart and called it nice? As if that weren’t bad enough, he found himself responding with, “You’re welcome.” Like some pansyassed prep school boy.

  “I need a shower,” she said.

  “Aye, so do I.”

  The conversation was so bloody awkward, Murdoch had trouble recognizing himself. He’d done the same favor for scores of women and never once felt uncomfortable. He’d even had women tell him they loved him. Not since he shaved off his beard, mind you. Could that be the problem? Was he lost without the beard?

  “I’ll see you later, then.” Kiyoko gave a wave and a half smile, then walked to the door.

  His hands fisted, then unfisted. “Wait.”

  She paused, and turned.

  “I’m not entirely certain,” he said, “but I think I may love you as well.”

  She didn’t laugh. Which, when he thought about it, was quite an accomplishment. As pledges of undying affection went, it would never make the honor roll. But it was all he had.

  And she seemed to accept that.

  The smile she gave him was deep and genuine. “You are a good man, Murdoch.”

  Then she left.

  19

  Azazel strode into the Hall of Shadows, and the murmuring and wailing abruptly ceased. Fear rose from the packed crowd, a dank smell that soaked into the walls and draperies like stale urine and hung in a cloud over the massive room.

  It was time to put his army to the test. Not the whole army, of course. Just the bone-s
appers. Gradiors were powerful and nearly unstoppable, but not the best option when stealth was required.

  He reached out and with a flick of his wrist forced the nearest sapper to its knees. The inky creature shrieked as it fell, which in turn sent a shiver of dread through its comrades.

  Azazel smiled.

  Once, when he’d first crawled his way—battered and broken—into the between, the creatures had foolishly attempted to feed from him. But he’d quickly discovered their weakness and used it to his advantage.

  Pain.

  Despite their ever-shifting shapes and wet texture, they could feel pain. A great deal of it. A stab of energy through the nucleus of nerves that served as their brains, and voilà … instant obedience.

  He dragged his captive forward, shredding its knees on the stone flooring, until it lay in a ragged heap at his feet. “Rise into the middle plane and bring me news of the Veil. I must know where she hides it. You have my leave to hunt any Soul Gatherers you should chance upon, but do not return unless you have the information I seek.”

  The creature quivered with understanding. A bone-sapper could not survive sunrise.

  “Go,” Azazel said.

  The creature vanished.

  If it returned before dawn, then the next stage of his plan could proceed. If it didn’t, he’d simply send another. His army of sappers was several thousand strong. Losing a handful to prove his might would only further his mastery over them.

  And eventually one of them would succeed.

  “Can you sense the presence of the blanket spell?” Kiyoko asked Sora, as she peered into the murky water of the fishpond.

  “Yes. Can you?”

  She tossed a bread crumb into the water. The water immediately erupted into a flurry of waves and the bread was attacked by several mouths. Catfish. “I feel something, but it is ill-defined.”

  “If you walk up the hill to the edge of it, you’ll get a better grasp of its composition,” he said. Slipping off his sandals, he walked barefoot in the grass, his robes whispering. “It’s an excellent hex. Multilayered and self-repairing.”