Predatory

Page 8

“Personal opinion,” she managed to mutter.
Grasping her elbow, he led her onto the terrace. Then, reaching the glass door, he paused to flip open a small, metal box and placed his hand against it to be scanned. There was a small beep before the door slid open.
Good grief.
This place had the sort of security she’d only seen in movies.
Perhaps sensing her confusion, he sent her a wry smile as he urged her over the threshold and into the house.
“I borrowed the cabin from a friend,” he said, closing the door and pressing a button that reset the lock.
He pressed another button that did something to darken the windows. She assumed it was so they could see out, but no one could see in.
“A Sentinel?” she guessed.
“No, Serra is a psychic.”
In spite of the combustible combination of fear and anger that continued to seethe through her rigid body, Angela felt an undeniable stab of curiosity.
Hardly a big shocker.
She was a scientist who’d been obsessed with genetics for as long as she could remember.
“I thought most high-bloods lived together?”
He turned to meet her searching gaze. “Most prefer the comfort, not to mention the safety, of official compounds, but psychics have a need to seek solitude on occasion.”
“Oh.” She glanced toward the windows that offered a view of the thick woods that encircled the house. The nearest neighbor was no doubt miles away. “I never thought how annoying it must be to hear other people’s thoughts.”
“This house belonged to Serra’s parents before they retired to Florida.” His features softened as he spoke of the psychic. “She was fortunate to have parents who remained an important part of her life. They chose this spot to give her a place of peace.”
“Is she your lover?”
The words left Angela’s lips before she could call them back and her face flushed with heat as he stepped toward her with a wicked smile.
“There’s only one female I want in my bed.”
A dangerous excitement spiraled through her at his low, husky voice, stealing her breath and making her knees weak.
If only that were true.
If only this intelligent, powerful, drop-dead-gorgeous man had truly been a visiting professor who’d been intrigued by me, the shy young scientist.
Yeah, and if only pigs could fly.
She tilted her chin, trying to pretend as if she couldn’t feel the heat of his hard, muscular, perfectly chiseled body searing through her clothes.
“Why did you bring me here?”
His jaw clenched, as if he was frustrated by her refusal to accept that his desire could be genuine.
“The house has a sophisticated alarm system including hidden surveillance. It’s also less than an hour from a monastery.”
She’d known that the monasteries had a close connection to Valhalla. Not only training the mysterious Sentinels who served as guardians to the high-bloods when they traveled among the regular population, but also offering asylum for any high-blood who felt in danger.
No one was allowed in the monastery without invitation from the monks.
Not the cops, or military, or even the leaders of the country where the monastery was located.
They had the mystical powers to remain impervious to politics.
“You have business with the monks?”
“Using teleportation will be the fastest way to reach Valhalla.”
She took a hasty step backward. “No.”
“There’s no need to be scared.”
He studied her as if surprised she would be afraid of being magically transported from one place to another. As he should be. Under normal circumstances she would have been thrilled out of her mind at the opportunity to not only see inside a mysterious monastery, but to travel from portal to portal. It would be . . . amazing. But these weren’t normal circumstances and she wasn’t going to allow herself to be trapped in a place that she couldn’t be sure she could escape from.
“I’m not scared,” she said.
“Good.” His lips twisted. “Despite all the entertaining tales of people disappearing into outer space or arriving at the destination half-man/half-fish I can promise you that it’s perfectly safe.”
“I meant that I’m not going to Valhalla.”
His brows drew together at her stubborn tone. “Angela, it’s the one place Dylan can’t reach you.”
“Oh yeah? It didn’t sound that way to me.”
“What didn’t?”
“You accused Dylan of killing two Sentinels before managing to escape from this supposedly ‘safe haven’,” she reminded him, shivering at the memory of the strange female. It wasn’t remotely difficult to accept she’d murdered her friends. Dylan was clearly unstable. “Now you want to plant me there like a sitting duck?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or is that the point? Am I still the bait?”
His breath hissed between his teeth, his hand lifting to rake impatient fingers through his hair.
“If you were the bait, I would have left you at the apartment and waited for Dylan to return,” he rasped. “Because I can assure you that she would have come for you.”
Okay, that was true.
Even if she wasn’t in the mood to admit it.
Instead her chin tilted another inch. “You can’t force me to go to Valhalla.”
The blue eyes darkened with a hint of the predator that waited just below the surface.
Sentinel.
She’d glimpsed the danger that lurked beneath his pretense of civilization. A damned shame she hadn’t paid attention to her instincts.
“I think I’ve already proven I can make you go wherever I want,” he reminded her in deceptively soft tones.
“Bastard.”
He cupped her chin, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “But, I would rather you go willingly.”
“Not. Gonna. Happen,” she snapped, hoping he didn’t feel her shiver as the heat of his fingers warmed her to the tip of her toes.
And lots of interesting places in between.
His eyes darkened, but this time it was with a stark hunger that made her heart pound.
“What if I say pretty please?” he asked in a low, compelling voice, his thumb brushing over her lower lip.
“Stop that.”
His hooded gaze studied her upturned face, something perilously close to possession in his dark expression.
“Ah, if only it was so simple.”
Her mouth went dry as her body instinctively arched toward his solid strength. Dang it. She’d lusted after him for so long. Weaving impossible fantasies in her head.
Now her body didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t supposed to be melting beneath his touch.
Traitorous hormones.
“Niko.” His name came as a breathy whisper instead of the protest she intended.
He muttered a low curse as his head lowered so he could brush his mouth along the sensitive curve of her neck.
“I like hearing my name on your lips.”
Her hands lifted to clutch at the cashmere softness of his sweater as he nuzzled a path upward. Oh . . . crap. It felt soooo good.
The sort of good that made smart women do stupid things.
“I’m mad at you,” she managed to mutter.
He found the pulse that thundered just below her jaw, stroking it with the rough rasp of his tongue before giving it a tiny nip.
“I know.”
Angela gasped at the primitive stab of pleasure that arrowed through her.
Her limited experience with the opposite sex included a few fumbled kisses, even more fumbled squeezes of her breasts followed by a quickie in her long forgotten boyfriend’s dorm room.
Nothing that made her anxious to find a new lover in the past three years.
Not until Niko had prowled into her lab.
Clearly even a female as embarrassingly naïve as she was could sense a man with the ability to please a woman.
She moaned as he outlined her mouth with the tip of his tongue.
“I don’t trust you.”
“You will,” he promised, stealing a deep, drugging kiss.
She briefly savored the taste of warm male desire, her stomach clenching with anticipation as she felt the hard thrust of his arousal.
This was what she’d sensed the minute he’d walked into the lab.
This smoldering attraction that could burn her to cinders.
Reluctantly she pulled back, her rasping breath the only sound to disturb the silence.
“Just because you can get me into bed?”
“Because I’m going to devote myself to proving I’ll never hurt you again,” he promised, his gaze locked on her lips that still tingled from his touch. “No matter how long it takes.”
She struggled to think.
Who knew it could be such a difficult task?
“Why?”
His finger brushed her heated cheek. “Hmmm?”
“Why are you concerned that I would be hurt now?” she persisted. “It’s not like you gave a rat’s ass for the past six weeks.”
He met her accusing gaze, his expression somber. “The Sentinels—the ones who Dylan murdered—were two of my closest friends.” He grimaced. “The pain of their loss blinded me.”