Black and Blue (Page 9)

Black and Blue (Otherworld Assassin #2)(9)
Author: Gena Showalter

He hated his body.

“You need a scar. You’re too pretty. Why won’t you wake up?”

I will. For you. And then I’ll strip you and take you, and you’ll scream my name, again and again, and I won’t stop until I’m sated, and you’re too exhausted to beg me for more.

“And how are you causing my furniture to levitate? Stop that!”

His power must be seeping out. He would have to do a better job of controlling it.

Who was she?

He’d gone to Pagan’s . . . and his fiancée had been with her sister. Yes. He remembered that much. The two talked about him, and Pagan mentioned becoming a mother. He’d thought she’d understood kids would never be part of their arrangement.

Humans and otherworlders could procreate, but it wasn’t easy. Still, Blue had taken measures to ensure it never happened. Plus he always wore a condom. He didn’t need protection from disease, since humans couldn’t pass anything to him; but in his early days, too many girls had come forward citing a rubber broke and pregnancy was the result. A lie on both counts, but the claims had scared him. No way did he want to raise a kid with a one-night stand. Or worse, a target. A simple little surgery negated the possibility of children.

Need to have a talk with Pagan. He would make her understand kids were out of the question, or they would part ways.

But the woman with him wasn’t Pagan, he thought. Her scent was richer, and her voice sexier. She was thinner, yet somehow softer. Her tone wasn’t as gentle, and he was glad. He wasn’t easily breakable.

“Yesterday I hacked into Michael’s database and read your updated file, you know. And by ‘read’ I mean skimmed. I wasn’t that interested. Still, you’ve done some pretty impressive wet work.”

Hells yeah, he had. He’d taken down his first target at the age of thirteen.

A male never forgot his first.

Blue had actually butchered the job, an up-close-and-personal grab-and-stab, getting himself grabbed and stabbed in the process. Somehow, even with his injuries, he’d found the strength to pull through and finish. It hadn’t been pretty, but the victory had tasted, oh, so sweet.

He’d learned a lot since then. Now his victims never saw him coming.

And maybe he’d been born for this type of work, because he wasn’t like Solo and John. He’d never felt a moment’s regret for doing what he considered a public service. The equivalent of a human taking out the trash.

“So my question is, why have you allowed Michael to leave you in the hobaggery department?” the female continued. “You rock with guns, blades, and even swords. You’re amazing in hand-to-hand. Compared to anyone but me, of course. And I was particularly impressed with your undercover stint as a cage fighter. Taking down six Bree Lians at the same time? Delish.”

He wanted to pound his chest with his fists. She was impressed by him. For some reason, that mattered.

“Ugh. Why am I complimenting you? You’ve already got an overinflated ego. And I bet that’s because no one has ever told you how much of a pain in the arse you are. No female wants to offend the man responsible for her orgasms. Or are you a selfish lover? Do you forget all about your partner’s pleasure?”

I’ll never forget yours. He wanted to tell her. Tried to tell her. Failed.

“No response? No witty comeback? Come on, Blue! Talk to me.” The mattress tilted on one side. The covers rustled. The scent of honey and almonds intensified, and his mouth actually watered. Heat wafted from her with furnace-like intensity, enveloping him. It was exquisite, better than exquisite, and he was suddenly as hard as a steel pipe.

“I hate yammering to comatose Arcadians, I really do. I’m giving you a few more days to wake up, and then I’m dumping you right out the window, just see if I don’t. Because you, Mr. He-slut, are a freaking cover hog, and I’m tired of it.”

He-slut . . .

The word reverberated in his head, irritating him. Who would call him—

In a split second, he remembered sneaking into a fancy two-story belonging to . . . Evangeline. Yes. Evangeline Black. Evie.

His caretaker’s identity stunned him. Angered him a little, too. Here he was, pussing up over the Black Plague and actually feeling affection for her. He’d even considered pleasuring her. Was still freaking hard for her! What kind of madness was that?

Maybe the explosion had fried the wires in his brain.

“When this is over,” she muttered, “I’m probably going to need a tetanus shot. The proverbial they say that inviting a man into your bed is the same as inviting all of his previous lovers. That would explain why I feel so freaking crowded right now.”

The anger sharpened and clawed at his chest. He was desperate to strike back at her. But though his muscles twitched—finally, movement!—he remained in place.

He wasn’t worried about his inability to act. His body was in the process of re-creating itself, and was now in the final stages of the healing. Sometime soon, an electrical current would rush through him, bringing new nerves and cells to vibrant life. He would be back to his . . . old self and . . . he would make Evie . . .

Her insistent warmth drugged him, lulling him deeper and deeper into darkness. . . .

* * *

Evie sighed into her pillow. The past week had passed in a blur of activity. She worked at the hospital. She took care of Blue. One night, she finally scouted the military compound where she suspected her father was being kept, but didn’t break in. They’d beefed up security, and she was out of practice. She couldn’t risk getting caught while she had a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound manimal to feed.

What would happen when he woke up? How would he react? He couldn’t—

A massive burst of energy swept through the room, electrifying the air. Goose bumps broke out over her skin, and her adrenaline spiked, every cell in her body waking up to say hello. She gasped, startled.

“Smell good,” Blue muttered.

They were the first words he’d spoken since the night she’d found him, and his voice snapped her out of her shock. Excitement slithered through her. Was he finally coming around? Would she soon be rid of him and the annoying sense of awareness his mere presence elicited? Never had she been more conscious of her br**sts, or the quiver in her stomach, or the ache between her legs than she had these past few days. And she didn’t like it!

Before she could turn over and check on him, he threw a heavy arm over her middle and tugged her into the hard curve of his body, spooning her. Warm breath tickled the back of her neck . . . and, blimey, she melted against him. So good.