Sweet Ruin

Her gaze fell on his bone thingy again. Why did he keep it? For years to come, she would imagine scenarios for it.

Unless she met him for their date and simply asked him.

EIGHT

You’re good, female, I’ll give you that,” Rune said as he entered the courtyard.

The voyeur was sitting on the edge of the fountain, skimming her delicate fingers across the water’s surface, her black nails glinting. “Be specific. Good at lots.”

The mere sight of her made heat rush through him, pooling in his groin. When he’d scented her a couple of blocks away, he’d had to force himself to slow his steps. “Where did you learn to steal like that?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Practice.”

“I never felt you near my . . . pocket. Are you a thief by trade?”

“I guess you could say I’m between jobs.” Her lips curled, like that was an inside joke. “You showed; does this mean you’ll join me for coffee?”

“Return my belonging,” he said as he closed in on her, “and I might only spank you.”

“And that’s a hard no on java.” She rose and squared her shoulders—as if they were about to spar.

How strange. Aside from Allixta, no females opposed him. They were too busy trying to land him. “What could you want with such a useless trinket?”

The voyeur reached into her skirt pocket, then held up the talisman. “I want it, because you obviously want it.”

His gaze locked on the piece. “It’s of no value.” It meant everything. “I’ll have it back simply because it’s my belonging.”

“See, here’s the thing—this is now my belonging. I stole it fair and square. What’s it for, anyway?”

“It’s not for anything. As I said, it has no value.” It’s merely the thing I care most about in all the worlds. The nerve of this bitch!

“What do the symbols mean?”

“That’s not your concern.” He didn’t know!

Captured and enslaved young, his dam had only remembered a limited number of runes to teach her son. That talisman had been the sole possession she’d had on her, yet even she couldn’t read it.

Unless Orion could help him decipher the markings, Rune would never know—because his mother’s breed of demon had gone extinct, their lore lost.

All Orion had told him was that the answer lay in Gaia.

The voyeur pocketed the talisman again. “I might consider returning it if you answer some of my questions.”

His ire was at the ready. “You do not make the rules.”

“I do if you want your ‘trinket’ back.” She gave him a sardonic wink.

Her defiance was so unfamiliar, he felt his cock stirring. “Brazen little thing, aren’t you?”

“Brazen is when you can’t back it up.”

She couldn’t know he was a Møriør, but she should still fear him as a much larger male. He stood well over a foot taller than she, and easily had a hundred and fifty pounds over her. “You dig your own grave. Unless . . .” His gaze fell to her lips. “Perhaps your mouth can yet convince me not to whip that pert ass of yours raw.”

She laughed at him.

He leaned forward, feeling the overwhelming need to shut her up—with his mouth over hers. Kiss her quiet.

How quiet would she be screaming in agony? Frustration simmered.

In a drawling voice, she said, “I suppose retreating is another choice for you. Turn around and walk away. Perhaps the sight of your ass can yet convince me not to whip it raw.”

He stalked closer. “Are you a mad one then?” Older immortals often fell prey to insanity.

“Sure.” Again, she seemed amused. “Why not?”

“You’re going to give me my belonging.” He bared his fangs at her. “Or I will make you suffer.”

“Suffer? Oh, sport”—she rolled her neck to pop a crick—“I love a good fight.”

“Such defiance against a male—”

She swung a fist at his face.

He caught it effortlessly, but hadn’t expected another immediate hit. She punched him in the stomach with surprising force.

When he squeezed her fist in his grip, she grabbed his arm with her free hand. Her black nails had lengthened and sharpened into claws. Was she a demoness? A succubus?

She sank her claws into his arm. She was strong for a female. Still, nothing he couldn’t shake off.

“Careful, girl. If you break my skin, you’ll draw my dirty blood.” Baneblood. Old angers seethed. He shoved her against the wall, knocking the breath from her lungs.

He took the opportunity to reclaim the talisman from her pocket, his hand a blur as it dipped.

Shock registered on her face. “You’re fast too!”

“Fast as the fey. You’re no match for me.”

She thrashed against his hold. “No?” Her head shot forward, her forehead connecting with his.

“The hells!” That hit should have cracked her skull like an egg. He felt blood—from an actual injury—trickling down his forehead. How long had it been since someone had landed a blow?

“You’ve loosed my poison, wench. Playtime is over.”

Her gaze locked on the blood. “Look at it flowing.” She began to pant, her breasts pressing against his chest. He could feel her nipples stiffening into tight points.

He swiped a sleeve over his face, clearing away the blood. It wasn’t poisonous to the touch—wouldn’t harm her unless it got into her system—but he’d take no chances.