The Darkest Touch dh-3 Read online

  “When I was young, my mother disappeared. My father went ballistic. Not that he wasn’t already half crazy by then, anyway. The whole town just assumed she’d run off, tired of dealing with a madman for a husband.”

  “How bad was he?”

  “Really bad.”

  “Alcoholic?”

  “That was part of it, but it was more than the alcohol. The old man was on a power trip. I don’t think he was right mentally, either. Whether that occurred before or after the war I don’t know. I was too young. All I know was that he was an evil sonofabitch for as long as I could remember. He liked hurting people.”

  “Did he. . hurt you? Hurt your mother?”

  Ryder shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, Ryder. I’m so sorry.”

  “We dealt with it, learned ways around the beatings. If you could get him drunk enough, he’d pass out and then he couldn’t hit you. Mom was good at keeping enough liquor in the house to make sure he drank himself into oblivion every night. Over the years, she got smart, I guess.”

  “Good God. Why didn’t she take you and leave him?”

  He laughed. “And go where? Small town. No other family. You keep your business to yourself. That’s just the way it works.”

  “So she just left you with your father? Even knowing he was mentally unstable?”

  He’d never told anyone that part of the story before. “No, she didn’t leave us. Remember when I told you about how we got recruited on the island?”

  “To fight demons, right?”

  “Yeah. What I didn’t tell you was how we were chosen.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “This is kind of hard to explain.”

  “I’m reasonably intelligent, Ryder. I’m sure I can follow.”

  “The six of us Lou brought to the island? All of us lost our mothers when we were children. So did most of the other hunters who came before us.”

  “Lost as in. . how?”

  “Our mothers were taken by demons.” He explained how the Sons of Darkness took human women and used them to breed half-human, half-demon creatures-the hideous hybrids they fought.

  She placed her hand over her heart. “Did you all know this?”

  “No. None of us did. Not until Lou told us on the island.”

  “Oh, my God. What a revelation. So you all spent your lives thinking-what? That your mothers had left the family, or died, or been kidnapped?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  She reached for his leg, squeezed it. “Oh, Ryder, I’m so sorry. You thought your mother abandoned you, left you with your father.”

  He shrugged. “It was no big deal.”

  “Of course it’s a big deal. No child wants to feel deserted.” She crawled onto his lap and wrapped her arms and legs around him, facing him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

  She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. Soft, filled with tenderness. Not sexual in any way.

  Damn. He wound his arms around her and pulled her against his chest, content to just hold her. He had to admit, it felt good.

  Too good.

  Don’t show weakness. Emotion. It’ll get you killed. Women will break you, boy. Don’t love them. They’ll knife you in the back and destroy you. All worthless bitches. They should pay. Grind them down under your boot heel. A woman’s pitiful screams are the best, son.

  He shook his head, obliterating his father’s words. The old bastard was always there, would always be there, warning him, filling his head with that sick bullshit.

  Even dead, the sonofabitch still haunted him.

  The warmth fled and he gently pushed Angelique from his lap. “Anyway, back to what I was saying. .”

  She quirked a brow, but nodded.

  “My father was a military man. Came back from the war hardened. Not that he didn’t go in that way, but something changed in him after. Made him even worse than he was before, my mom told me. He had no love in him, no warmth. Not for my mother and sure as hell not for me.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened to him during the war?”

  “No. Don’t think it really mattered. He was born that way, I think. Going to war just made it worse. PTSD or something.”

  “I’m sure it was hard on both of you.”

  He shrugged. “My mom had plenty of love to give me. She tried to shield me from the old man as best she could. And my dad stayed out of the house a lot, either working the farm or in town at one of the bars. It wasn’t until Mom disappeared that things got bad.”

  “How bad was it for you after she disappeared?”

  “He toughened me, at least that’s what he thought he was doing,” Ryder said with a quirk of his lips. “He was so pissed when she disappeared. Said she left him with a kid who was worth nothing because she’d coddled me for eight years. So he taught me to work the farm, taught me about guns and warfare. When I got older, I learned his moods and when to stay out of his way.”

  There were things he’d never tell her, would never tell anyone. His father was one sick bastard. Ryder was lucky he’d run off when he did. Lucky to still be alive. Lucky someone had killed his old man in a bar fight before his father hurt anyone else. There were times Ryder could have killed him, wished he’d had the guts. But he’d just been a kid. Now? He wouldn’t blink about doing it. But back then he’d lacked the courage.

  Angelique grasped his hand. He tried to pull away, but she clung tight. He decided to let it be, figuring she needed it more than he did.

  “I decided in order to survive it, I needed to become just like him. Hard, mean, a tough sonofabitch. So I did.”

  “But that’s not who you are,” she said.

  “You don’t really know that, do you? You don’t know me at all, Angie. You don’t know what I’ve done, where I’ve been.” How many I’ve killed. How much I enjoyed it. Enjoyed inflicting that final blow, just like his father.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t. But I know what you’re capable of. And you have the capacity for tenderness, for protectiveness and for caring. Did your father?”

  For some reason it pleased him that she thought those things about him. “I don’t remember. I guess he must have at one time, or my mother wouldn’t have married him. Maybe something went haywire in his head, or some kind of anger caught hold of him and wouldn’t let go.”

  She shifted, sat on her heels, and leaned forward enough to clasp her palm to his cheek. “You’re afraid you’ll end up just like him.”

  He stared up at her. “Do you dabble in psychology when you’re not digging up bones?”

  She let out a soft laugh. “No. It’s pretty easy to follow your train of thought.”

  “So, you think I’m simple.”

  Now she threw her head back and laughed hard. “Ryder, there’s nothing simple about you. You’re one of the most complex men I’ve ever known. You’re like an intriguing puzzle. Trying to figure you out is like trying to find buried treasure. You know it’s there somewhere, just waiting to be discovered, but you just can’t decipher the damn map. That’s what I like most about you.”

  “Keep saying those things about me and I might get a swelled head.”

  “Really. Let’s see.” She pulled back the covers and reached for him, wrapping both hands around his quickly hardening flesh.

  “Angie.”

  He’d said her name the last time, but that was when he’d warned her to stop. Now it was a guttural plea to continue.

  And maybe it was because he didn’t want to continue their conversation. He didn’t want to talk about his past, about his father. He’d done it to make her feel better, but it dredged up things he didn’t want to remember.

  Now he wanted to forget, and being with Angie made him forget everything else.

  He lifted his hips, pumping into her hand, watching every stroke in the hazy darkness of the dimly lit room.

  She celebrated his body with slow, measured movements, worshiping him with her ha
nds, and then her mouth, bending over him, her hair splayed out over his thighs and stomach.

  She was a goddess, a temptress, and he gave himself over to her, releasing the last of his restraint and letting her have everything. He drowned in the softness of her hair, the lush heat of her mouth, her tongue, the way she captured his senses and completely owned him. When he released, she didn’t let go, taking him all in, gripping his thighs when he bucked against her and groaned.

  Damn.

  If she was a demon, then he’d just taken a step over onto the dark side, and loved every minute of it.

  She raised her head, smiled at him, and licked her lips. His cock twitched, still alive and eager to feel her heat surrounding him.

  “Come here, darlin’.”

  She climbed onto his lap again, this time straddling his legs and wrapping her legs around his back, her sex positioned over his throbbing cock. She laid her palm on his chest and he shifted, sliding down the pillow and grasping her hips.

  “Ride me.”

  She did, mounting him and covering her body over his. Her eyes drifted closed when she eased down on top of him, engulfing him in a tight vise. His balls quivered as she seated herself fully on his thighs. Buried deep, he was completely connected to her via their bodies and their eyes.

  Oh, man, she was beautiful. He wished he’d turned on the light next to the bed so he could see her body as she rocked back and forth against him, but he saw enough. The way her breasts moved along with the swaying motions of her body, the softness of her hair as it fell over her shoulders when she leaned forward to plant her hands on his chest, the stark look of surprise and delight on her face when he lifted his hips-yeah, he saw plenty, and felt even more.

  He swept her hair away from her face and cradled her face in his hands, pulling her forward, needing the contact of her lips against his. The first touch ignited a spark from his tongue to his balls, a shock of heat that burned him from the inside out.

  That flame continued to grow as she increased her movements, digging her nails into her shoulders. He tangled his fingers in her hair and held on tight as she rocked them both, raising up and sliding back down on him until he felt his spine tingling, a rushing wave of climax building that he couldn’t hold back.

  He pulled his lips from hers, pushed on her shoulders so he could see her face.

  “Come on,” he coaxed, holding on to her hip with one hand, directing their movements with an upward stroke. “Let me have it.”

  She gasped, moaned, then ground against him, tilting her head back as she let out a cry of delight that made him shudder. She was lost then, climaxing against him, around him, tightening and pulsing, raining her pleasure down on him until he let go inside her with a torrent of his own that left him shaking.

  She fell against his chest, her breathing out of control, her hair damp with perspiration. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, realizing how easy it had been to let her in.

  Sex had always been just a physical thing, a momentary gratification of getting his rocks off and easing the tension. Then he walked away.

  He’d always walked away. And never once looked back, because he’d never cared. Of course, neither had the women. He’d always chosen women who weren’t in it for a relationship, who only wanted sex. It worked well for both of them that way. They both got what they wanted. Scratch an itch and move on.

  It was different with Angie, and he couldn’t deny that everything since the beginning had been different with her.

  For a guy who’d spent his entire adult life steeling himself against emotional connection, he was doing a piss-poor job avoiding it with Angelique. It was as if he didn’t have a choice with her. She was embedded, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

  The odd thing was, he didn’t want to change anything. Dammit, he was enjoying this contact with her, needed it like basic sustenance.

  Ryder was a realist. There was no point pretending the emotion didn’t exist. It did; he had to accept it.

  He cared about her.

  But he’d never love her. He knew the limitations, understood just how far he could go. He’d never subject a woman to what his mother had gone through.

  And he didn’t trust himself enough. He wasn’t confident enough to say he wouldn’t end up just like his father.

  He owed Angie more than that. She deserved more than that.

  “Do you have any idea where we’re going, or are we going to continue driving aimlessly around the coast?” she asked.

  He smiled. That’s exactly what he’d been doing. Trying to get his bearings and stay one step ahead of the demons until he figured out a game plan. “You’re too damn perceptive. You’re not psychic like Shay, are you?”

  She rolled off him and sat up, a satisfied smile gracing her face. “Hardly. So what are we going to do?”

  He pushed the pillow up against the headboard again. “I’m going to contact Lou, then Dalton. We’ll figure out the next step. What the hell time is it, anyway?”

  “About five in the morning.”

  He shrugged. “A little early.”

  “We could get breakfast first.”

  “We could. But right now I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”

  She looked down between his legs, then met his gaze again, her eyes going smoky. “Now that’s an invitation I can’t refuse.”

  “You’re insatiable. You’re going to wear me out. I’ll be worthless.”

  She slid off the bed and stretched, thrusting her breasts at him. Maybe she was a demon-a succubus sent to tempt him into selling his soul.

  It was working.

  “Somehow I think you can handle it, tough guy. I’ll go turn on the shower.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Isabelle couldn’t breathe as Dalton held her mother’s diary in his hand. The secrets, the things he now knew about her. .

  The pain was so raw it tore through her lungs, her heart. Embarrassment, rage, and utter terror burned within her. She could barely form words; she didn’t know where to start.

  She’d been had. Dalton looked back at her, his face a mask revealing nothing. Tense seconds had ticked by and so far he hadn’t replied to her question, so she asked him again.

  “Who are you?”

  Anger was a shield, so much better than dissolving into tears and crumpling on the floor. She wanted to die. Or wanted to run into his arms and beg him to help her understand what he’d read in her mother’s diary.

  He couldn’t help her, though. No one could.

  He stood and picked up the diary but didn’t move toward her. She wanted to snatch her mother’s journal from his hand and jump off the boat, do anything she could to get away from him. But instead she stood her ground, firmly refusing to budge. She had to know.

  “Isabelle, don’t panic. Don’t be angry.”

  She let out a laugh, though the situation was anything but funny. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve telling me how to act or feel. You stole what was mine. Something private. You read my diary, Dalton! Is that even your name?”

  “Yes.”

  At least he had the decency to look ashamed, though it gave her little comfort. “Is that the only thing you told me that’s the truth?”

  He leaned back against the desk. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  Fighting back tears, she nodded and held out her hand. “Give me the diary. It belonged to my mother.”

  He held firm to it. “Not until you listen to me.”

  “There’s nothing you could tell me, no explanation you could make up, that I’m remotely interested in hearing. Now give me the diary.”

  Determined to get the journal back from him, she started toward him.

  “I hunt demons for a living, Isabelle.”

  She stopped. “What?”

  “Demons do exist. I’ve seen them. I’ve killed them.”

  She felt dizzy, nauseous. Was he making this up? “What are you saying?”

  “I’m here to p
rotect you. Demons are looking for you. They want to use you, to hurt you.”

  Her airway was closing; pinpricks of tiny lights danced in front of her eyes. Oh, God, she was losing it. She tried to suck in air, but she was doing it too fast. She hurried toward the bed and sat, doubling over. “I’m going to be sick.”

  A cool hand swept her hair away from her neck and palmed her nape. “Breathe normally. Slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”