Seal of Surrender (12 page)

Santo Cristo.
He struggled against his opponent's overwhelming grip. Numerous assaults slashed his chest, his neck and soon the blood loss made him easy quarry. Death called to Chago for the second time in twenty-four hours and once again it promised to hurt like hell.

Into the silent pause before his demise came a soft echo of reprieve — the snick of a cocked gun.

“Move away or I'll blow your head off, asshole!” Irena's ironclad tone carried across the humid air.

Archon turned and she shot. Green slime splattered, falling from his wounded mouth as he stumbled, tripping in his rush to escape. He gave a final shout of defiance before disappearing into the brush.

Through a pain-induced haze, Chago marveled at the precision of Irena's strike. She'd hit the abomination square in its soft spot. Maybe he'd underestimated her.

Irena tossed the rifle away and knelt beside him to run her hands lightly over his wounds, inspecting the damage. He gritted his teeth against the mix of agony and ecstasy brought by her touch and voiced a half-hearted admonishment. “I told Innocent to get you and the kids the hell out of here.”

“Lucky for you I'm not a good listener.” Irena brushed the hair from his eyes and wiped a glob of green muck from his cheek. “What was that thing?”

“Don't know.” The lie tripped easily off his lips, despite the situation. He would not allow Irena to become involved in his past vendettas. Chago attempted to stand and the world spun out of control. He squeezed his eyes shut as his consciousness wavered. Fuck.

The lights clicked on again, flooding the yard with illumination. Irena gasped, her eyes wide with horror as got a glimpse of his injuries. “We need to get you to a doctor immediately.”

“No.” He sucked in a breath and rolled to his side to brace his shattered ribs while a gash on his chest began to seal. “No doctor. I'll be fine. Just give me a minute.”

Despite his statement, Irena ran to the house and returned a moment later with a damp cloth. “At least let me wrap your leg so the predators don't come looking for a meal. This is Africa, remember?”

He acquiesced. Nocturnal eyes already flashed from the brush, indicating an influx of carnivores. The last thing he needed to top off this sudden shitfest of an evening was a bout of lion wrestling. She rolled the towel into a makeshift tourniquet and wrapped it snug around his thigh.

“Any other wounds I need to see?” Irena wiped her hands on her stained sundress.

“Nothing you can help with.” Chago managed a weak smile and struggled to a sitting position. A spiral of agony coursed up his spinal cord to join the now constant pound in his head. He needed to get his target to safety. “Let's get out of here.”

True to his brooding nature, Chago remained stone silent on the ride back to the hotel, though he did give a mute prayer of thanks to Divinity for the late hour of their return and the conspicuous lack of onlookers for his bedraggled appearance. The few patrons dotting the lobby witnessed only the antics of an over-amorous couple headed for a romp in bed.

Irena had draped herself around him with strategic precision, using her body to hide the large crimson stains while Chago stayed close to the wall and effectively concealed any other damaging marks.

He caught sight of his reflection in a nearby mirror and did a double take. His face resembled a badly used punching bag. No way to conceal that. His only saving grace was the soft pressure of Irena's breasts crushed to his side and the warmth of her breath on his neck. He glanced down at the woman by his side. If he weren't in such bad shape he would have taken full advantage of the tantalizing display she offered.

After a long trek across the lobby and a longer elevator ride, Irena helped him to his room before retreating to hers. He'd just peeled off the remains of his shirt and started on his pants when a soft knock sounded through the connecting door. Chago spun to find temptation standing mere steps beyond.

His gaze lingered on Irena's messy hair and stained dress then dropped to the first-aid kit clutched in her hand. He turned away before he did something they'd both regret. “Don't worry about me.”

“I'm a trained EMT.” Irena ignored him and marched into his room. “Let me take a look and make sure.”

With the sigh of a condemned man, he threw his keycard on the dresser. “Treatment isn't necessary.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, emerging moments later with towels and an ice bucket full of water. “Sit down before I tie you to the seat.”

Images of being restrained while she had her wicked way flooded his overtaxed mind.
Her determined gaze locked with his, daring him to protest. He knew when to admit defeat. Best to get this over fast.

Chago slumped into the room's only chair with all the enthusiasm of a wayward schoolboy in the principal's office. Irena wet a couple washcloths and laid them across the still tender flesh of his chest. The liquid permeated the freshly scabbed areas and opened them anew. His breath hissed between clenched teeth and his chin dropped until the burning agony receded. Irena stroked his hair and a different kind of fire ignited as his gaze snagged on the soft breasts now inches from his face. He groaned.

“Sorry, I know this hurts, but I have to clean these cuts.” Seemed his dutiful caretaker had mistaken his aroused growls for pain. “Otherwise they might get infected. And believe me, you don't want an infection, not in this country.”

She continued to chatter on about nothing in particular as she cleaned the blood from his lower abdomen. Archon hadn't killed him, but Irena's treatment might prove to be his death knell. Her hands worked to unbuckle his belt and push the waistband of his trousers lower to expose the bottom of a nasty scrape.

Any hope Chago carried for rational behavior fled faster than a gazelle on steroids. Irena's lilting voice only added fuel to his unbridled libido. “Whatever the creature was, it had a set of claws. These marks are deep and wide. Not to mention the teeth marks.”

“Archon's no ordinary animal.” He forced speech past the testosterone-laden rampart in his throat while Irena reached for a clean dressing. Her fingers brushed close to the rising bulge of his crotch and his restraint shattered. He shoved her hands away and pushed from the chair, distancing himself from the woman who knelt on the floor before him and her confused expression.

“Get over here. I'm almost done.” Irena stood, a white towel bunched in her hands. “Don't be a baby.”

“I'm not a child, woman.” His ego bristled and the tight reins of his self-imposed abstinence slipped from his grasp. Chago turned, advancing toward her with the slow, sure steps of an alpha predator with his next meal in sight, his voice choked with lust. “Shall I show you?”

She backed away, stopping only when the wall prevented further escape. Irena gave a small, nervous laugh and stared square at the middle of his chest, avoiding his gaze. “I — I was joking. Nothing personal.”

He placed a hand on the doorframe beside her head. Heat radiated from her skin and intensified the wildflower scent of her hair. Beneath his pointed stare, Irena's pupils dilated to cover all but a rim of sapphire iris. The changes fascinated him. Chago channeled his high-voltage determination into a slow grin and pushed an errant strand of hair from her shoulder. “Maybe personal is what I desire.”

Irena stared into his eyes, her bottom lip trembling beneath his steady gaze. He cupped her cheek and traced the pad of his thumb across her mouth. Her eyes slid closed and his already molten desire flared hotter. Pink tinged her cheeks, drifting down the graceful column of her neck. His runaway train of passion crashed headlong into the yearnings of his heart.

“Santo Cristo, save me
.
” Chago's fervent plea whispered against her velvet skin. He worked his way across the smooth curve of her cheek toward her lips. The kiss started slow and grew more forceful as she responded. He buried his fingers in the mass of her hair to lock her in place. Her hands fisted against his bare chest then slid higher to grip his shoulders, pressing her luscious body into his long length. Intoxicated with the taste of her, Chago nibbled from Irena's jawline to her ear. “Querida, you're delicious.”

She whimpered and he tucked her closer, rotating his hips and allowing her to experience the full extent of his passion. Irena forced his lips back to hers, demanding more. Chago regained a modicum of control and dusted kisses across her throat while lowering the zipper at the rear of her dress. His fingers traced inside to stroke her soft flesh, delighted to elicit a shiver from his eager partner.

His protective Scion instincts merged with baser, human urges. This woman was his to guard, to care for, to touch. A solitary commandment penetrated his sex-addled brain. Mine.

The sundress slipped from her shoulders and Chago admired the prize he'd revealed, eager to caress her taut, rosy peaks. He flicked his tongue over her collarbone, savoring the salty-sweet taste of her skin. It had been too long since he'd taken a lover. Too long since he'd let his libido rule. Too long since he'd opened his heart.

His thumbs brushed her sensitive nipples and her passionate cries filled his ears like a sonata. Tonight, his eternal wait ended.

He kissed one breast, his accent growing thicker. “Bonita, mi carina.”

Her hands bunched in his hair, her nails digging into his scalp. He suckled one tender pink bud, his warm breath fanning the strained point before his tongue bathed the sensitive flesh. Irena arched and a growl tore from his throat, possessiveness and raw with need.

His mouth hovered millimeters above her flushed skin, the distance a sweet torture.

The harsh jangle of a phone stopped his seduction cold.

Through the fog of desire, Chago cursed technology into the next millennium. He recognized the ringtone and fury froze his movements. Barron better start running now, because if he ever caught him, the guy could kiss his immortal cojones goodbye.

With a snarled curse, he set Irena a safe distance away before snatching the phone from the bed. He glanced at the caller ID and halted, surprised to see Xander's name instead. Fuck. He looked back at Irena. She stared at him as if in a daze, confusion lighting her features. Seemed his chastity was safe for another evening. After an apologetic glance in her direction, he answered the call, his voice a lethal weapon. “This better be good.”

Xander's cool tone cut through his passion-clouded haze. “We've located Archon.”

No shit. “So have I. He attacked me tonight.”

“Attacked you? Why didn't you contact me right away?”

Chago rubbed a hand over his face and fought to contain his irritation. “Next time I'll be sure to pull out my phone in between getting my ass kicked.” He relayed the night's events with bullet-point precision, minus his interlude with Irena.

“You'll survive.” Xander's matter-of-fact tone added some levity to the situation. “How's your target? Have you explained the situation to her yet?”

Irena disappeared through the connecting door without a goodbye. There went his romantic interlude. Dammit. “She's fine. And no. I was going to wait for your arrival before telling her about the mission. When does your flight arrive?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Luther will e-mail you the details. With the girl having seen Archon, you really should tell her the truth. At least enough to keep her safe.” Xander's tone held a perfect drop of sibling taunt. “Can you handle that without me?”

“I'll do my best.” Chago said with an equal measure of sarcasm, then clicked off his phone and sprawled across the empty bed. His body still throbbed, alive with passion for the woman whose taste clung to lips. Several loud bumps issued from the vicinity of her room, reminding him of his missed opportunities.

With determination, Chago pushed off the bed. He needed to concentrate on successfully completing the mission ahead, not ravishing the woman behind the connecting door.

• • •

Irena flipped on the lights in her room and made her way to the bathroom.

On the way, her foot brushed against a manila envelope shoved partway beneath the entry door. The package bore no address or other identifying information, only her name scrawled across the front in handwriting she didn't recognize. Curious, she tore it open.

Out poured a stream of eight-by-ten glossy photos like a fountain of bizarre, mismatched blooms. Some color, some not, all the same subject — her parents. At the top of the pile, twined amongst the pictures, lay a necklace. The pendant was her mother's favorite. She never took it off. Below was a single-word note.

Cooperation.

Irena inspected the images closer. Each had the same distinguishing blemish. Strange, burnt-out hatch marks where the eyes should have been, a cartoon caricature of impending death if she made the wrong decision. These shots were old, depicting her father's capture and subsequent isolation during the war and her mother's visits to the prison, but the message was clear.

Shaking, she gathered the scattered pages and shoved them deep inside her carry-on. There had to be another alternative to this situation, a solution to Drake's asinine threats without prostituting herself. Her childhood had taught her several important lessons. Violence was never a first choice. Brutality was a last resort. Most importantly, if you must shoot, make it lethal.

Her mind drifted back to the encounter on Innocent's land. When Irena fired, she didn't miss. She was sure her bullet had struck the creature smack in the mouth. The shot should have severed its spinal cord. Yet the thing hadn't died.

Deep in thought, Irena stripped and stepped into the shower, her weary body slumping against the wall. Panic wouldn't help anyone, but she was too exhausted to suppress her emotions any longer. Her tears mixed with the rapidly cooling shower water, draining away some of her tension along with the sparse remnants of her energy. The joy of dinner with Innocent and his family had morphed too quickly into the horror of the attack. Her overtaxed senses continued to buzz with remembered traumas: the copper scent of blood; Chago huddled in a pool of congealing red; the beast's overpowering stench of death and decay.