Silent Warrior (5 page)

His grin reappeared, lopsided and cocky. “Nope. So let’s proceed with some hardcore.”

Their mouths were already close enough to share the same air, but he removed even that distance. Swift. Resilient. He and his kiss were equally arrogant. Sensation punched through her chest. The surprising acuity and strength he used on his opponents—the same surprise he’d used on her—was welcome now. When it came to sex, he proved he wasn’t all talk and no skill.

He countered her every move. Each plunge of her tongue was forced into retreat by a more powerful surge. She tried to tilt her head, to gain the advantage. He only shifted the position of his shoulders to hold her where he wanted. Where he wanted was better. He made her skin prickle beneath her armor. Stripping it, baring her body, wouldn’t be enough. She’d still ache for more of what he demanded. Skin to skin. Deeper than that. She wanted to be penetrated.

Hark grinned against her mouth. She kissed him harder, just to shut up whatever words were on their way. As if in retaliation, his expression hardened. He looped her wrists in his taut fingers and shoved her arms above her head. That stretched her body, pushed her breasts against metal armor, and lifted her onto her toes. She wasn’t short and she wasn’t weak, but that position shot currents of fear down her spine.

She moaned something meant to be a protest. Hark responded with a growl of unmistakable triumph and a hard thrust of his hips. The metal that constrained her breasts and rubbed against her tight nipples was arousing, although she would’ve preferred hot, bare bodies. His tight, accelerating pulses were blunted by too many protective layers. She wanted to feel how much he wanted her. She knew it by the way he devoured her mouth and breathed sharp gusts through his nose, but that wasn’t the same as the gratification of finding a thick, ready cock.

Was he big enough to satisfy her? Hard enough?

She’d been disappointed before, and she didn’t want to be disappointed by this man.

Not just sexually.

He kissed her until that strange thought dissolved. Better to bask in layer after layer of sensation rather than remember how well they’d complemented each other—after they’d stopped fighting.

It wasn’t possible to deepen their questing kiss, but he deepened their connection. His lips left hers. He bit openmouthed kisses across her cheeks, along her jawline, and down to her throat—only to be thwarted by her collar.

He stopped abruptly and stepped back. Silence took pride in her grace and ability to recover from almost any blow. Apparently she wasn’t prepared for a sudden absence. She stumbled a step forward before catching her balance. Flaming embarrassment shot up from her breastbone. Had the lights been brighter, Hark would’ve been able to see how easily she blushed. That particular curse was another reason to keep from opening up to anyone—why vulnerability was something to be strangled and squelched.

Hark didn’t speak, which she’d come to find unnerving. He stood with his arms crossed. Chin lowered. Eyes fierce. Silence recognized that expression from when he’d stared down Konnor. Only then he’d disguised his intentions behind a flurry of words.
His
silence . . . she didn’t know what to do with that.

Such was the danger of assuming too much about one’s opponent.

Only he’d been worse than an opponent and far worse than a simple one-night stand waiting to happen. For a few decadent heartbeats, he’d been her seducer.

“So which cartel?” he asked simply.

Silence resumed the armor that protected her soul. She didn’t reply.

He scowled, which added a sinister glaze to his pretty-boy features and damp curls. “Fine. Be that way. I can only assume you’re a skilled killer who’s been given a great deal of freedom and trust. You’re here on a mission.”

She blinked slowly, condescendingly.

“Great. So I
have
been leading with my dick. Dragon damn, I was enjoying that. You were, too, blondie. Your moan was a dead giveaway. Now you could be as quiet as an abandoned flat tire on a highway, but I’ve heard you
moan
.” He glanced at her shield, with his hand on the satchel containing his
nighnor
. “Fight or fuck? It’s up to you. Just answer this: Are you from the Kawashimas?”

She was tired of playing games with him. He’d be her lover or he wouldn’t. He’d be her enemy or he wouldn’t. Better to find out now, before instinct took over again.
Fight or fuck.
That had been the way of it all night. She had reasons to be in Hong Kong. Might as well establish once and for all where this man figured into her assignment.

“Not Kawashima.”

“But you still want me for some purpose.”

This time it was her turn to smile, and he beamed right back. “Beyond the next two hours? No purpose whatsoever.”

5

“I
could convince myself you’re lying,” Hark said.

“That’s the chance you’ll have to take.”

He shrugged. “Not a good enough reason to give up a sure thing.”

He looked Silence up and down, although that wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it could be. She was wearing too many layers smeared with suspiciously nasty colors. He liked her banter, he liked knowing he’d been the one to draw that out of her—out of sheer exasperation, which had never proved so successful—and he liked how she tasted.

Basically, he’d been limited to the neck up.

That would change.

“Last chance, blondie. Off we go.”

Although he’d suggested an opportunity for her to refuse, he took her hand and began leading her down the street. She only hesitated long enough to grab her shield. They both knew she could damn well resist if she wanted to, just as they each knew what was signaled by her matched stride.

Yeah, he’d been aroused. Kissing a woman against a wall and in full view of a street teeming with people had that effect on a man. On
any
man—with gays excepted, of course. Wouldn’t that be the bitch of all ironic bitches? To be a gay Dragon King meant being deprived of even the hope of defying the odds and conceiving a child. He’d heard rumors of a woman in Manhattan whose son was a natural-born Dragon King, but that was just the talk of the underworld.

Hark had no legacy to leave, nor did he want one. The last of his people would die off naturally or by violently unnatural causes in a few hundred years, thus ending the race that had shaped all of civilization. His own Sath had been the pharaohs and sheiks, feared and worshipped in the desert sands as living gods. The Pendray sat in their damp, snowy fortresses in the British Isles and Scandinavia. They had little ambition beyond complaining about how they’d never had their chance to rein as the most influential of the Five Clans.

Tough shit, Reapers. Forge an empire or don’t.

Pendray women were damn good fucks, though. Mean and vigorous and very vocal.

He wondered how much natural energy Silence hid. Maybe they were just in the mood to combust together. Sometimes that happened no matter one’s partner—the mood to behave like dumb, aggressive, primal animals. The Dragon Kings, for all their magnificent gifts and dwindling influence, were no better than humans in that respect.

“But you have a
nighnor
,” she said quietly.

“Whoa, not so fast, Queen of the Non Sequiturs.”

“You’re in debt. Those things are priceless. Why not sell one?”

Normally Hark would’ve welcomed conversation, especially one this woman started without prompting. He didn’t like the quiet, and he didn’t like the dark. A childhood spent in abandoned sewer tunnels and sleeping in crawl spaces would do that to a guy. Huddled. Curled up. Motionless and swallowing the sounds of his fear—especially when his brother had been killed. His nerves were jumpy enough without her blunt reminder that he wasn’t any safer now.

“An interrogation, huh? I might as well have met your parents and taken you out to dinner,” he said, throat surprisingly tight. “Does this mean all I’ll get is a peck on the cheek and a shy ‘good night’? I want to see you blush when you peek up through your lashes.”

“We’ll get what we both want.”

Her jaw was set, her chin lifted, but in profile she seemed less . . . well, to be honest, less scary. The warrior who’d stared him in the face while they’d dueled over that tasty-as-hell kiss—she had graceful bones and flawless skin, revealed in profile. Perhaps that was because her black-on-black eyes weren’t sizing him up as her next kill. He was free to look deeper and find the woman behind the good little cartel soldier. Her white-blond hair was short along her nape, revealing an elegantly arched neck. She had amazing posture. Not too stiff. Graceful and assured.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s take all of the romance out of it. These are the times we live in. Dragon damn, woman, after all these years spent together—no more roses and chocolates for you. The effort is just wasted.”

“That headache is back.” Still in profile, her full bottom lip quirked. He’d tasted those lips and wanted more. But Hark couldn’t tell if her expression was determined by amusement or genuine frustration.

“See? Already like an old married couple. Me badgering for sex. You with some excuse about headaches. Let’s grab a newspaper and see if we can decipher the Hong Kong prime-time lineup. We already ate, or I’d suggest ordering a pizza.”

“I want you without your clothes on.” Always the plain sentences to throw him off. Nice trick. Almost as clever as the eerie minutes when she shut up completely. “Any change of pace.”

“Why’s that?”

“To see if you chatter even with a naked erection.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grinned and took hold of her wrist.

“If anyone could manage, it’d be you.”

“I’m ready to wager again. Are you?”

She only lifted her brows. Hark caught the motion in profile, but it was enough. She was independent and hellaciously mean. She was also easily led when he guided her. Contradictions like that kept him interested, as if she hadn’t already been intriguing enough to spend a year dissecting. He wasn’t a scientist, but he understood people. People like Silence didn’t come along every day, even in the dank crevices of the streets.

“In two hours,” she said, “I’ve learned that neither invitation nor censure will limit what you have to say.”

“I wager you wanted to scream. Every time I taunted you or you took the wrong end of a punch. You’d have sucked up that Pendray’s rage and screamed like their banshee myths. Poof. One rotten little district pulverized and smoldering.” He hooked one forefinger around hers and felt her shiver at that slight contact. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“That will always be true.”

“Spoilsport. But . . . here we are.” Hark yanked on the door to an unmarked building. The hinges screamed as if they’d split the next time they were abused with so much force. He couldn’t help it; he was edgy as all hell. Inside waited a foyer that smelled suspicious and looked worse. “Four-star luxury for a by-the-hour bargain price.”

“I’ll take those roses and chocolates now.”

He turned away from the foyer. Silence glanced his way, with one eyebrow lifted and a smile that mimicked a cat’s sly grin.

“Was that . . . oh, be still my ragged brain. Was that another joke?”

She shrugged, not with her shoulders but with an expression, and walked to the desk clerk. The aging little man was half her height and looked twice as mean. How daunting was that? The guy actually held a baseball bat as he stood there, assessing them both. Hark was under no illusion that the clerk spent his off hours stepping onto a diamond and taking swings at well-aimed pitches. That thing was for braining horny little crackheads, unruly hookers, and pimps who got violent enough to mandate police intervention—and thus police scrutiny. The clerk was probably intervention enough.

“Nightly or hourly?” she asked the man.

“Hourly. Up front. And I break down the door if you’re not out on time.”

Silence arched her pale brows. “And ruin a perfectly good door? No.” In spectacularly well-designed fashion, she casually adjusted the shield across her back. She might as well have resumed her mute ploy, because the movement spoke for itself. Armed and dangerous. “But think what you want. Seven hours.”

She tossed Hong Kong dollars on the desk, held out her hand, and to Hark’s surprise—although really, he shouldn’t have been surprised—the clerk handed over a key. All Hark had to do was follow her upstairs. The steps were so uneven that the walls seemed to move as he climbed. There were no lights. Sweat clawed up between his shoulder blades. By the Dragon and the Chasm, he needed to hogtie his annoying little phobias. Years of acclimatizing himself to nighttime prowls had helped, but this particular evening had him on edge. Sex, and something stalking him. Something big that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Instead he focused on the woman he was about to strip.

It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t at all romantic, not when she hauled him into the room. He hadn’t even noticed the smooth motion of key in lock. He hit the floor. Luckily the satchel containing the
nighnor
and all his other goodies flopped to one side or he would’ve suffered a few cracked ribs.

Silence slammed and locked the door. She was quick. Eager. He liked that.

She straddled him and Hark didn’t even care. Let her do the work for a while. He’d take over when he wanted to—and he had the glorious impression that she’d let him.

Part of her wanted to be conquered. He would oblige.

Nimble fingers unfastened and unzipped and unhooked. She was unerring, especially when she grasped the full length of his cock.

“Light,” he managed to gasp. “I get to see you or all bets are off.”

She gave his prick a few quick, firm strokes. “Really?”

Hark groaned. That felt
good
. Amazing.

He closed his eyes and sank into the rhythm of her hands. Behind closed eyes, the dark was his choice. Only when he opened them again, wanting to see her expression, did he trade pleasure for security. Just as he had against the wall of that seedy street-side building, he grabbed her, flipped her, pinned her.

She
laughed
.

Then attacked her own belts and buckles.

“You are insane,” he growled, helping her along.

“So are you.”

Hark grinned against her lips, then fucked his tongue deep inside. She accepted every thrust and surge of restless energy, taking it into her mouth and giving it back with equal strength. She was a warrior and he wanted to take her down—him, an agile little shit with no judgment, a raging erection, and too many people after him to sleep peacefully ever again.

Good enough. The erection would take precedence.

He broke their kiss, gratified when she lifted her head off the floor to follow his mouth. He laid his palm over her lips and pushed. She bit the flesh at the base of his thumb.

“Fuck.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, tone . . . teasing.

More, more, more.

His body thrummed with that refrain.

Shoving her down again, he kicked and smacked free of her hold. So excited that she didn’t want to lose the weight of his body against hers. So excited that he almost let her keep him there.

He levered off and away, then flipped on the world’s worst excuse for a light. It was a pull cord threaded along the wall and secured by a few industrial staples. A shade on the ceiling cast a sick yellow light across the room. Sure, he didn’t want the darkness, but he sure as hell didn’t want to look in the corners either.

Silence.

He only wanted to look at her.

Luminous black-on-black eyes stared up at him. She looked like a Sath goddess of the ancient times. Isis, perhaps—the patron saint of slaves and sinners.

He slowed to take in every feature as she revealed her body. She wore protective silk-lined leather. One layer down, a tank top glazed with sweat molded white cotton to her slight breasts and flat stomach. She was breathing hard when she propped back on her elbows, staring him down even when she was in the position of submission.

“You’re going to make me come,” she said in that blunt, antagonistic way.

“Repeatedly.”

Hark shrugged out of the rest of his clothes until he stood before her naked and ready. Only she’d been right to tease him. No way could he have talked his way out of this one. His cock was hard and aching and stretching straight out from his body. He was standing, but he felt oddly vulnerable. How did a guy drag praise out of a woman who said so little? He wanted gasps of surprise at his length and girth, and slack-jawed wonder at the sight of the body he’d honed into a weapon.

In the end, he didn’t have to work for her praise. It spread across her carefully blank expression—so subtle, so controlled, but no less powerful. Her eyes widened, and her nipples beaded beneath the damp cotton tank top that concealed nothing but the hue of what would be more bronzed skin. She licked her lower lip. Quickly. Furtively. As if he hadn’t been devouring every detail.

She glanced up from beneath her lashes, just as he’d teased. But it was only a tease. She was as brash and competitive as ever. “I’m still wearing too much.”

“You are.”

“Then help me.” Her lips lifted at one corner. “I want to be as naked as you. And I want you to fill me with that gorgeous prick.”