Page 6 of Queen of Ashes and Scars
“Are you alright?” she asks, the thrill of the hunt coloring her cheeks.
I cough up a mouthful of blood, the wound on my neck already healing as I scan the street for our next ride. “Yes.”
A motorcycle and its owner are waiting for traffic to clear on the road up ahead.
“Perfect.” I grip the leather coat of the motorcyclist and sink my fangs into the poor man's neck. I haven’t fed at all today, and I need enough energy to heal better and see us through this. Blood sprays to the roof of my mouth, not quenching half my hunger, but I still stop right before killing him and snap off the strap of his helmet. The man’s limp body slumps to the pavement as I straddle the motorcycle and hand Arielle the helmet, my dick already half-hard at the sight of her freckled with ashes and blood.
She doesn’t actually need a helmet. Our bodies are meant to heal from pretty much anything but a stake through the heart and a severed head, but we’ll blend in better this way.
Arielle pushes the helmet down on her head, hops on behind me, and snakes her arms around my midriff. An unwanted rush of adrenaline rakes through me, and I’m suddenly more nervous about this operation than my last ten combined, the usual calm and clarity I get whenever I do what I do best erased by the simplicity of her touch. This isn’t just another mission.
Her sweet, honeyed scent holds me captive, her full breasts pressed tightly to my back. The black dress rode up her creamy thighs when she straddled the bike, and I can’t resist the urge to squeeze her bare knee, wishing I had all the time in the world to imprint the sight of her on a motorcycle—and her damn sexy stilettos—to memory.
“Drive us out of here, Mr. Beaumont,” she murmurs in my ear, her sultry voice filling me with pride and desire.
Chapter4
A Vicious Snare
ALEC
The queen of the Delacroix empire sneaks her small hand up my thigh with confidence as I drive into traffic, inching dangerously close to my crotch. “Mmm… You weren’t kidding when you said violence makes you horny.”
The wicked games she plays with her hand might just have us crash into a wall if she’s not careful, the tight pants more than uncomfortable.
“Stop it,” I say with a hint of regret.
With a giggle, she finally stops teasing me and flattens both palms to my chest, the pain in my groin slow to relent.
The motorcycle is more malleable and can squeeze into narrow alleys, attracting way less attention and allowing me to weave through the city efficiently while keeping a low profile. I whip around a few tight corners to make good time, but with enough respect for the traffic signals not to alarm anyone.
“The hangar Keenan told me about back at the estate is on the opposite side of town,” I say.
“Do you think he’s planning to double-cross us?”
I take a moment before I answer. Keenan was hired by the king to do a job, and if he always flaked out on his contracts, he wouldn’t be one of the most renowned sword-for-hire in the Shadow World.
But I’ve heard enough about him to know that he’s got a code of honor, and that angels are a dying species, their kind quickly dwindling in numbers.
“Whatever payment he hoped to get from Pereira, we can offer ten times more now, and I believe his genuine interest in Leo.”
“I do, too.” She squeezes me tighter, her embrace somehow more intimate than it was last night. Yesterday, there was a…distance between us. We were enjoying our first and last night together, ouronlynight.
The way she holds on to me now leaves me no doubt that there will be others. Feeling like I’m riding on a cloud, I park the motorcycle a few blocks from the given address and check the exact location with my phone.
A throng of missed calls from Sebastian and a myriad of angry, worried texts clutter the screen, and I roll my eyes as I turn the screen to Arielle.
She huffs at his language. “Thousands of kilometers away, he still thinks the world revolves around him.”
A short text from an unknown number stands out among the angry notifications.
ETA 30 minutes. 546945.
I don’t respond, thinking that if Keenan got my number, he doesn’t expect me to reply, and that if it’s anyone else, I don’t want to give them an incentive to track my phone. I cut off the signal and tuck it back into my pocket, itching to get out of the clothes I borrowed.
I canvas the streets and find nothing out of place. “We should walk the rest of the way on foot, to be more discrete.”
The lights are dim and few and far between in this part of town, and graffiti peppers the buildings with Portuguese slang and crude imagery. I shoot a glance to the roof of the adjacent building. “We can get a better view from up there.”
