The Darkest Surrender

“First, I’m not exactly human,” she said, raising her chin. “And here’s a news flash for you, my little man candy. I’m stronger than you are. Stronger than he is. Stronger than all of you put together. I can handle anything he dishes out.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Strider suddenly snarled. “Enough already. We need to leave, Paris, so you can stop making out with our fugitive.”

Our, he’d said. Not your. Such sweet progress. Trying not to smile, Kaia stepped away from Paris and slowly turned to face Strider, some of her annoyance with him cooling out. Breath snagged in her throat. Paris was beautiful, yes, but Strider … Strider was magnificent.

Her first glimpse in weeks had been of him standing in the station’s lobby, stark white walls surrounding him, and her knees had almost buckled. His finger-combed pale hair had been in complete disarray, sticking out in spikes. His navy blue eyes had swept over her, lingering in all the right places, and her stomach had quivered.

Now, at this second glimpse … He was tall, towering over her even though she stood several steps up and wore high heels. He had a delicious muscle mass that couldn’t be hidden underneath the long leather jacket, tight black shirt and denim. And gods, his face. His oh-so-innocent, yet oh-so-wicked fallen angel face.

At first, she hadn’t recognized that face for the luscious contradiction it was. She had seen only the innocence, and had continued searching for someone with the qualities she’d always found most attractive: brooding, dangerous and temporary.

That’s why Paris had snagged her attention.

He mourned the loss of his human female. Brooding—check. He was an ambrosia addict who could kill without hesitation. Dangerous—check. He was a sure thing, a onetime-only event, and wouldn’t cling. Temporary—check. Afterward, though, she’d snuck out of his bed—a Harpy always left after the main event—hollow and empty.

Which was probably why she’d gone back for seconds a few weeks later. She’d wanted to feel what she’d felt while they were together. Fulfilled. Satisfied. But he’d turned her down, physically unable to give her a repeat, and pushed her out of his room. Yeah, he could have pleasured her and taken nothing for himself, but that would have been a pity-session and wasn’t something she could tolerate.

So, because she’d worn a robe and only a robe to his second seduction, she’d left in a robe and only a robe—and, distracted as she’d been, she’d smacked into Strider in the hallway.

That’s when she first saw the devil in his eyes.

In that moment, she felt as if a switch had been thrown inside her. She’d made a mistake going after Paris. The man in front of her was everything she’d ever wanted and more.

His hair had been wet and plastered to his temples, darkening the strands. He’d had a white towel wrapped around his neck and no shirt to hide a stomach that boasted rope after rope of bronze strength. She’d watched, fascinated, as little droplets of sweat had traveled his golden happy trail before disappearing into paradise. A paradise she’d wanted to visit. With her tongue.

His shorts had hung low on his waist, revealing the jagged edges of the sapphire butterfly tattoo on his right hip. The moisture in her mouth had dried. Clearly, he’d just come from a workout. A very intense workout. Breath had still sawed in and out of his lips. Lips, she had realized, that promised untold pleasure when they curled in sinful amusement.

“Nice outfit,” he’d said, navy gaze blazing a slow journey from the top of her rumpled head to the purple polish on her toenails, lingering on her pearled nipples and between her quivering thighs.

“All’s I could find,” she’d replied in an uncertain voice, thinking this might turn out to be the immortal version of a walk of shame. How can I fix this?

“Lucky robe, then. It’d look better without the belt, though.”

Okay, maybe I don’t have to fix anything. For the first time in their acquaintance, desire had layered his tone. That desire affected her far more strongly than the once-over had. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. So, you looking for someone in particular?”

“That depends.” Sultry arousal sweeping through her, she stepped closer to him. “What does someone have in mind?”

Behind her, hinges squeaked as a door opened. “Kaia?” Paris suddenly said, and she turned, her stomach rolling. He tossed a pair of fluffy pink slippers at her. “You forgot these. I’d keep ‘em, but they aren’t my size.”

“Oh.” They plopped to the floor right in front of her. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Strider. Hey, man,” Paris called.

“Hey,” he replied tightly. “Interesting night?”

“None of your business.”

As Paris disappeared inside his room, Kaia wheeled back around. Now Strider’s expression was guarded, closed off.

“Interesting night?” he asked, directing the question at her this time.

She gulped. “Not really. Nothing happened. This time,” she forced herself to add. If he did anything with her tonight, and found out the truth about Paris later, he’d hate her. So, full disclosure. Except—

“See ya around, Kaia.” Strider skirted around her, wandering off rather than teasing her about what she’d done. Or asking her what had really happened. Or caring on any level.

Clearly, nothing would have come of her sudden attraction to him even if Paris hadn’t interrupted.

“—some goddamn attention to me!” Strider was snarling now. “Not that I want it, you understand. You’re pissing off my demon.”

Pissing off his demon? She wanted to seduce his demon. Right? Or had she written the two off as she’d told Bianka?

She blinked, focusing, and studied him anew. His fury had very nearly sharpened his features into deadly blades, and her knees did buckle. So damn magnificent. A savage, a brute. Paris caught her before she hit the pavement and held her up.

Oh, gods. Weakness? Here? Now? Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

Strider took a menacing step toward her, then froze in place. “Paris, dude, let her go,” he snarled, and Paris immediately obeyed. Navy eyes snapped to her, more animal than man. “When did you last eat, Kaia?”

Thank the gods. He thought her weakness stemmed from a lack of nourishment, not the irresistible sight of him. She shrugged, happy she remained on her feet under her own steam. “Don’t know.”

As she had chosen not to steal or earn one of the bowls of slop given to the residents of Cell Block B, and as she’d been in the slammer for two days … well, she was starved.

Fine. She could have eaten. Bianka had come to the rescue, as always, eager to bust her out and feed her. She’d shooed her sister away with a stern warning—followed by a figurative bitch slap—not to return. Otherwise, Kaia would ensure the nickname Heavenly Hills Ho spread and stuck. Forever.

“Damn it, Kaia. You’re shaky on your feet and you can’t concentrate worth a damn.” His gaze shot to Paris. “Phone Lucien for pickup. I’ll meet you in Buda. I want to feed her, and then we can—”

Paris was shaking his head. “I’ll phone Lucien for pickup, but I’m not waiting for you in Buda. When you finish your business, if that’s what the kids are calling it these days, have Lucien or Lysander bring you to the heavens. Either one will know where I am.”

Strider gave a stiff nod.

Paris ruffled the top of Kaia’s head before striding off and disappearing around a corner, leaving her alone with the warrior of her dreams. Exactly what she’d furtively hoped and prayed for as she’d shoved Bianka out of the cell and locked herself back inside.

They stared at each other for a long while, neither moving, neither speaking. Tension spreading, thickening. His warrior nature had never been more evident. He stood with his arms at his sides, his hands inches away from the now-visible butt of his guns, and his legs braced apart, ready to spring into action. Against her? Or anyone who thought to hurt her?

Finally, she could stand the silence no longer. “You’re going to the heavens?”

He nodded, his skin like polished gold in the sunlight. The vibe of animal savagery left him, and he actually relaxed. She liked this side of him, too.

“Why?” What she really wanted to ask: How long will you be gone? Are you meeting a woman? An angel? His friend Aeron had fallen in love with a goody-goody with wings. Why not Strider, too?

I’ll kill the bitch.

“Sure you want to know?” he asked. “It involves Paris and another woman. A woman he wants.”

Relief bombarded her. “Sweet! Gossip.” Grinning, she rubbed her hands together. “Give me.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I never repeat gossip, Kaia.”

“Oh,” she muttered, shoulders sagging with disappointment.

“You didn’t let me finish. I never repeat gossip, so listen closely.” He was fighting a smile, and the knowledge delighted her. “The woman Paris loves … hates, whatever. He wants her, like I said, and she’s being held prisoner up there.”

Sooo. Strider was going to war to aid his bro, not to give some wide-eyed, ripe-for-the-plucking winger a booty call. Her relief tripled. “I could, I don’t know, help you help him. I have connections up there—” not necessarily a lie “—and I—”

“No!” he shouted, then more calmly stated, “No. Thank you, though. But … Do you really not care that the man you desire now desires someone else?”

“Wait. Who says I desire him?”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

His expression didn’t change, but he did clear his throat. “Not that it would have mattered either way, you understand. But as I was saying, he’s already spoken to Lysander about getting a little angelic help, and gotten a no-can-do.”

“Of course Lysander won’t help him. He’d help Bianka, though, and Bianka would help me.”

“Nope. Sorry.”

Stubborn brute. He was so desperate to get rid of her, he wouldn’t even consider using her. Another rejection; how quaint.

Motions stiff, he waved her over. “Come on. Let’s take care of your hunger.”

All I want is a few nibbles of you. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know, but I’ll stay until you’re fed. I want to make sure you aren’t arrested again.”

Her Harpy squawked inside her head, a command to prove to Strider just how capable she was, just how worthy. Are you? “Fine. Oh, and here’s a truth missile for the demon who always wants to win. I doubt you can keep up,” she taunted, more out of habit than anything.

He huffed out a breath, and she figured this was round two of pissed-off mode.

“Lead the way,” he snapped before she could apologize.

Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have pushed so hard. My bad. “I will.” She didn’t take him hunting, though. Not yet. She took him to the cabin she and Bianka shared a good distance from civilization. Thankfully, her sister was nowhere to be found. “Feel free to look around. I need to shower and change.”

“Kaia,” he began, following her down the hall. “I’m kind of pressed for time here and because of what you said, I need to keep up with you and—”

She shut her bedroom door in his stunned face, heard him snarl low in his throat and grinned. The grin vanished as a thought occurred to her. There was plenty of stolen food in the kitchen. If he noticed, there’d be no good reason for her to take him hunting.

Have to risk it. I smell. Kaia hurried through a shower, grateful as the grime and total body makeup that had caked her washed away. She almost raced from her room after changing into a glittery pink T-shirt that read Strangers Have the Best Candy and short jean shorts, but caught a glimpse of herself in her full-length mirror. Outfit was fine, but not her hair. The red mass was sopping wet and practically glued to her head and arms, making her resemble a drowned clown.

Back to the bathroom she raced for a crucial blow-dry. She thought about applying another layer of makeup to her exposed skin, wanting Strider to want her for her, not any other reason, but discarded the idea. Let Strider see. Let Strider crave. Right now, she’d take him however she could get him. Later, they could work on their reasons why.

If she decided to give him another chance.

Finally, she raced from the bedroom. In record time, too. Just under twenty (forty) minutes.

A trail of fragrant steam followed her as she strode down the hall. No Strider in the living room, where she kept her life-size hula dancer lamp and the castle she’d built from empty beer cans. He must be looking around. She wondered what he thought of her place, her things, and tried to see the room through his eyes.

Besides the coffee table, which was carved to resemble a hunched over wooden Sumo wrestler with a sheet of glass perched on top, and the chair with arms that were actually painted to look like humans legs that stretched to the floor, the furniture was beautiful, pieces she and Bianka had stolen throughout the centuries.

History was a scent that clung to almost every polished piece. Okay, maybe not the white rug with two yellow pillows sewn at one end, so that the whole thing looked like eggs in a frying pan. Or the hamburger beanbag chair, complete with lettuce, tomato and mustard layers, but that was it.

And okay, maybe the couch and love seat had been chosen for comfort more than anything else, and were no more than a decade old. She’d crashed a frat party a few years ago and had liked the way the overstuffed cushions had conformed to her body. Plus, they were a pretty tawny color, almost the same as Bianka’s eyes, so she’d made sure to leave with them. No one had tried to stop her, either. Maybe because she’d carried each one over her head. By herself.

Colorful vases decorated the tabletops, interspersed with personalized bobblehead dolls and the occasional stuffed squirrel in a crazy outfit. Weapons and artwork hung on the walls right beside the homemade plaques congratulating her on a job well done. Her fave: the one for giving Bianka the best birthday present ever—the tongue of the man who’d called her a “mean, ugly hag.”

There were also photos of her and her family. Bianka, as well as their younger sis, Gwen, and their older half sis, Taliyah. Kaia partying hard at clubs, Bianka winning beauty pageants, Gwen trying to hide from the camera, and Taliyah standing proudly over her kills. Mercenary that she was, she had a lot of kills.

In the kitchen—Kaia skidded to a halt, her heart banging frantically against her ribs. Strider. Gorgeous, sexy Strider. He sat at the pool table she’d plucked from his fortress her very first visit there and now used in the breakfast nook. Food was scattered in every direction, from bags of chips to cheese slices to candy bars.

He wasn’t looking at her, hadn’t even glanced at her, but he had stiffened when she’d stepped inside. “I figured that, since these things were here, they were acceptable for you to eat. Which means I more than kept up with you. I outwitted and surpassed you.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. How disappointing. The one time she wanted her man to forget he had a brain, he remembered.

She leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest. Her stomach tightened, threatening to growl, but she remained in place, waiting. Only when he’d gotten a good once-over would she move.

“Kaia. Eat.”

“In a minute. I’m enjoying the view. You should give it a try.”

He tensed. “There’s a note from your sister on the fridge. She said she’s in the heavens with Lysander, and she’ll see you in four days for the games.”

“‘Kay.”

“What games? Never mind,” he rushed out before she could reply. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. What perfume are you wearing? I don’t like it.”

Asshat. “I’m not wearing any perfume.” And she knew he loved it. He had a weakness for cinnamon, something she’d noticed while stalking, uh, hanging out with him.

Within hours of learning that little tidbit, she’d stocked up on cinnamon-scented soap, shampoo and conditioner.

“Stop … enjoying the view and come eat,” he said through clenched teeth.

He’d closed the blinds over the only window and flipped on the overhead light. Natural sunlight complemented her skin the best, but—Oh, who was she kidding, acting all modest? Any light complemented her skin.

“Kaia. Come. Eat. Now.”

Gods, she adored that authoritative tone. She shouldn’t. She should hate it—barbarians weren’t supposed to be attractive to modern women—but still, she shivered. “Make me.” Please.

Finally his gaze skidded over to her. He was on his feet a second later, his chair sliding behind him. His mouth floundered open and closed, and his pupils dilated. He licked his lips. He reached out to grip the edge of the table, his nostrils flaring as he fought to breathe. “You … Your … Shit!”

Every pulse point hammering, she twirled. She knew what he saw—rainbow shards dancing hypnotically over every inch of visible flesh, the blush of health and vitality … the promise of seduction. “You like?”

As if in a trance, he moved around the table and stepped toward her. Closed the distance … stopped just before he reached her and cursed. He spun, giving her his back, and tangled a hand through his hair.

“I’ve gotta go.” His voice was hoarse, the words pushed through a river of broken glass.

What? No! “You just got here.” And he’d been so close to making a move on her. Just the thought caused her nipples to bead and moisture to pool between her legs.

“I told you, I promised Paris I’d help him. I have to help him. Yeah, that’s what I have to do.”

Would she ever overcome his determination to resist her? ‘Cause yeah, she wanted him, wanted to give him another chance. And another. However many he needed to get this right. “Strider, I—”

“No. No. I told you before, I’m just getting over a bad relationship, and I never hook up with anyone who’s dated one of my friends.”

Oh, really? “That bad relationship wouldn’t happen to be with Haidee, would it? The woman who didn’t want you? The woman who, what? Is dating one of your friends.”

Silence. Such thick, awful silence.

He wasn’t going to defend himself. Wasn’t even going to try to explain his illogical choices and reasons. Well, he’d forgiven Haidee for killing Baden. Why couldn’t he forgive Kaia for sleeping with Paris?

“You’re not innocent, Strider. You’ve nailed more tail than you can count. In fact, last time I saw you, you’d just eaten peach body lotion off a stripper.” Kaia had decided then and there that peaches were the most disgusting fruit ever, and the world would be a better place without them.

She’d already written to her congressman, demanding that all orchards be burned to the ground.

“I never said I was innocent. I just said—”

“I know. You can’t date anyone your friends have dated. You’re also a liar. But maybe … I don’t know, maybe you could sleep with one of my friends and we could call it even.” Oh, gods.

First, how desperate did she sound? Unbearably! She’d known this would happen if she made another play for him. And yet, she’d done it anyway. Like Pavlov’s dogs, she drooled every time she spotted Strider, abandoning her pride for any scrap he’d toss her way.

Second, thinking of this man with someone else had her claws elongating and her Harpy screeching. Her wings flapped to the same staccato rhythm as her heart, causing her shirt to lift and fall, lift and fall.

If she wasn’t careful, her Harpy would take over, control her actions. Her vision would go black, and a need for blood would consume her. She would stalk the night, hurting anyone who got in her way.

Only Strider would be able to calm her down, but he didn’t know that. Even if he did know it, he clearly didn’t want the responsibility. He was doing everything in his power to push her away.

“I won’t be sleeping with one of your friends,” he said flatly.

The hottest threads of tension drained from her. “Good. That’s good. All of my friends are ugly hags, anyway.” They were gorgeous, every one of them, but if he’d taken her up on the offer, she would have cut them loose in a heartbeat and gotten new ones. Repulsive ones.

“Kaia. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. I like you, I do. You’re beautiful and smart and funny as hell. You’re strong and courageous, too, but nothing’s ever going to happen between us. I’m sorry, I really am. I’m not meaning to be an asshole here, just truthful. We’re just not good for each other. Not a good match. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

They weren’t good for each other? What he really meant was she wasn’t good enough for him. After she had chased him, lost a fight to protect him, threw herself at him time and time again, she wasn’t a good match for him. And he … was … sorry …

Suddenly she wanted to claw his face. Drink his blood.

Don’t forget the upcoming games. Hurting him would hurt her, and she needed to be at her best.

She drew in a deep breath, held it, held, her lungs burning, blistering, before she slowly released every molecule, singeing her throat, her nose. She might have thought Strider deserved something, someone, better, but she deserved better than this. Right?

He finished lamely, “I hope you understand,” completely unaware of the havoc he’d created. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

He needed to learn the proper etiquette for dealing with his Harpy.

She needed to teach him.

She should close the distance between them and trace her fingertips all over him before he had time to dart away, all the while pressing her curves against him. Anything to arouse him. Anything to force him to see her as more than the beautiful, smart and funny girl who had nailed the keeper of Promiscuity. Then, as he begged for release, she should walk away.

He wouldn’t be harmed, but he would leave with a better understanding of how rotten denunciation felt.

Kaia couldn’t bring herself to take a single step, however. She might just find herself on the receiving end of rejection and failure yet again. He might push her away before she could make her move. And really, a thousand other rejections and failures awaited her in the coming weeks.

So much for giving him countless chances.

“I do understand,” she whispered. “Just … have fun on your trip, okay.” A dismissal. “I plan to have lots of fun on mine.” A lie. Although she did plan to hold her head up high and kick as much ass as she could. So much ass, in fact, that her clan would have to rethink her title.

Kaia the Disappointment no longer. Maybe she’d become Kaia the Stompalicious. Or Kaia the KillYouDead-atron.

“So … you’re going on a trip?” he asked, and he sounded relieved.

Do not react. “Yep. I sure am.”

Still he didn’t face her. “Where? When?”

Don’t you dare react. “In four days, I leave for—oops, never mind.” She moved around him and sat at the table. “You don’t want to know, remember?” Doing her best to appear nonchalant, even smug, all while the bastard ripped her heart out of her chest and danced on the pieces, she opened a bag of chips.

“You’re right. Just … be careful, and I’ll see you—just be careful, okay?”

He’d stopped himself from saying later. I’ll see you later. Because he had no plans to see her again. Ever.

“I will,” she said, as she fought tears for the second time in her life. She deserved this, she supposed. Punishment for the Unfortunate Incident, for Paris, hell, for all the rejections she had dished out over the centuries. “You, too.” Much as she currently despised him, she wanted him healthy, whole.

“I will.” He strode out of the kitchen, out of her home, out of her life, the front door banging ominously shut behind him.

CHAPTER FOUR