Soul Surrender (9 page)

Y
ellow light filtered through my cracked eyelids. A throbbing vein at my temple pulsed like a drum beat . . . only the last thing I wanted was to tap my toe to the rhythm. My arm was a load of bricks as I lifted it and rested a palm to my aching head. I groaned and blinked my eyes open, forcing myself to wake up despite the painful, bright light flooding my eyes and head.

The walls were white with a large window shaded by simple white blinds. The wall in front of me was adorned with various framed and signed vinyl records hanging in a grid. My wrist was cradled in a large calloused hand, and as the bed creaked beside me, I looked over to find Damien taking my pulse. “Hey there,” he said, his gruff voice not quite a whisper, but not at full volume, either. Something my pounding head greatly appreciated.

I was no longer in my own clothes but an oversized T-shirt and a pair of male boxers with little cupids all over them.

“What the Hell happened?”

Damien rolled to his side, grabbing for a tall glass of water as I hoisted my body to a seated position. Another blast of pain slammed into my brain even stronger than before, and my head fell forward into both hands. As if sheer pressure would make it go away.

He passed me the water and I took a sip.

“I don't know.” Damien dragged a hand down his face, scratching at his stubble. “My plants and I are on good speaking terms and they didn't see anything, either.” He puffed an exhale, and creases marred his beautiful, olive features. “I heard the crack of someone appearing, and Baxter barked like crazy. I went to the door, assuming it was you for a surprise nightcap. As I opened the door, I heard another crack and you fell forward into my arms.” Anger clipped his words short. “You didn't see anyone, either?”

I hesitated before shaking my head. “No. No one at all.” Damn. If he was obsessive before about my safety, Damien would be a downright lunatic now.

He hesitated, almost as though afraid to touch me, before taking my hand and lacing our fingers together. His thumb trailed circles along my heated skin. “Your shirt was ripped open in the back. A couple of nasty cuts there, too.”

I twisted around to see. Tugging Damien's well-worn LVMPD shirt above my waist, I could just barely make out the open cuts. It looked as though someone had tried to slash through my crucifix burn—unsuccessfully so. It was still red as a new scar would be. But the gashes stopped where the scar started and began again at the other edge. No wound touched the holy burn mark.

Damien interrupted my thoughts. “I don't recall that scar from the other times we've been together.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “It's a new one. A gift from—from, uh, the guy I was with last night.”

Damien snorted and his face twisted—in jealousy? Pain? Who knew anymore? “You didn't think it necessary to tell me?”

I sat still as a deer in hunting season and held his gaze. “I didn't realize I had to give you a minute-to-minute account of my evenings.”

His head flopped to a shoulder and he rolled his eyes. “C'mon, Monica. What's this about?”

I caved and told him about the other night with Buckley, intentionally leaving out the part of the story that described how much he looked like Drew.

He didn't comment immediately, simply chewed the inside of his cheek before finally answering. “So—this attack tonight. It obviously has something to do with this new scar. Can Buckley go invisible?”

“I don't know. Probably. But—I don't think this was him. Why would he scar me just to rip it right off? Besides . . . wouldn't he of all people know that it couldn't be scratched away?” I closed my eyes and shifted the wounds closed. Everything cleared up . . . except for the cross scar. Part of me kind of liked it; I couldn't wear a crucifix anymore—but now I can always sport the symbol of my original religion.

“It doesn't shift away, either?” Damien growled, eyes glued to my lower back. I shook my head in response. “Great. Just great.” He mumbled more to himself than to me. “How's your head? You feel okay otherwise?”

I smoothed the back of my hair with a palm; a nasty bump creating a hill and valley on the back right side. “It hurts, but it's not bad.”

“Good. That's good.” His lips thinned, and he nibbled the blanched corner between two teeth.

I raised an eyebrow in his direction, waiting for the other bomb to drop. “And?”

“And what?” he snapped.

“And . . . aren't you going to lecture me?”

His face was tight; the corners of his mouth turned down in a tension-filled frown. Finally, he shook his head. “Nope.” After a pause, he continued. “I might kick that angel's ass for not getting you here safely, though.”

I opened my mouth to speak when Baxter, the exuberant yellow lab, bounded through the cracked door and leaped onto the bed. His greeting consisted of slobbery kisses and a tail so powerful, demons should patent it as a weapon. A bit of gray peppered his face and around his eyes and nose. We weren't sure of Baxter's exact age, but we knew he wasn't a young pup.

All tension in Damien's face melted away and he grinned that panty-melting smile that hit me in the gut every time. “I told you he missed ya.”

I wrapped my arms around the dog's neck and buried my face into his soft fur. “Hey, buddy,” I said quietly, scratching his favorite spot under his front leg. Somehow a cute and cuddly animal made a throbbing headache easier to ignore.

Damien patted the dog's butt and scratched the sweet spot right above his tail. “Okay, Baxter. That's enough. Get down.” The dog flashed his sad, brown eyes in my direction.

“Aww,” I whimpered right along with Baxter, kissing his nose. A little zap stung my lips while I kissed him, and a flash of Baxter's puppy face spun in my mind. Shit, again? There was only one time in my existence that something similar to this had happened—and it was when Wills and Lexi were gunning for my life. Sucking my powers away with a stone from the Garden of Eden. But recently, these little zaps of power were becoming more frequent.

“Nuh-uh,” Damien playfully growled. “Don't you fall for it.” He flashed a disciplinarian look to the dog on final time. “Down, boy.” Then he turned his attention back to me. “Can I get you anything? More water?”

I rubbed the back of my head. Though the throbbing was still present, it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. “Could use an Advil. But other than that, I'm fine, I think.”

He nodded and popped up, wearing only his boxer briefs (how did I not notice that?), and padded his way to the bathroom. He hurried back and handed me a couple of pills, which I swallowed with a sip of water.

Baxter circled the floor on my side of the bed and curled into a big, furry ball. If I stretched my arm, I could just barely reach him with my fingertips. “What time is it?” I stretched to look past Damien at his bedside clock.

“Just past one.”

An exhale breezed past my parted lips. At least I wasn't out for long. “Did you call anyone? About the attack?”

He chuckled once, lacing his fingers in mine and bringing my knuckles to his lips. “I barely had time. I brought you into the house and, after changing and cleaning the cuts, I ran out to see if I could catch the bastard. Of course, it only took seconds for them to be long gone. Then, I did the elemental thing—talked to the shrubs; my door. They knew about as much as I did. Whoever it was must have been invisible and masked.”

“A higher-up?” I quirked my eyebrow. “So . . . should we call anyone?”

He shrugged. “That's your choice, babe. We'll need to tell them at some point, but if we call tonight, they're all gonna be over here in a second. And then you and I will have yet another night
not
alone together.”

I exhaled, finally relaxing. “I'd rather have tonight be just the two of us.” The Advil was starting to work, melting away my throbbing head. “Weird that they would try to slash the scar, right? Why not take me out then and there?”

“There's a whole goddamn slew of things worrying me—first and foremost the fact that someone attacked you right on my doorstep. If I hadn't been right at the open door, they probably would have taken you out right there. One second longer and they could have disappeared with your limp body.” He twirled a strand of my hair around his index finger.

“Yeah, lucky.” I meant it when I said it—but nothing about my existence felt lucky. I rolled onto my side, snuggling into that nook against Damien's ribs and underarm. A thick bicep curled around me, tugging me closer.

“Why do you think Buckley burned you with the cross? Seems weird.”

“Because he's an ass, that's why.” Buckley didn't need a reason to be a dick. He just was. It was his way of asserting that he still has ownership of me.

“Maybe. But that guy's smart . . .” he trailed off, absentmindedly stroking my hair in thought.

My blood froze in my veins. “He was murmuring,” I whispered. “When he pressed the cross into my back—it was a spell. The bastard put a spell on me.” My spine stiffened and my fists curling around the comforter. I had known it was a spell, of course, but the reality of it was just sinking in. Nothing about myself felt any different . . . other than the scar that wouldn't disappear.

“Whoa, whoa.” Damien's hands curved around my shoulders, holding me tighter against him. “There's nothing we're doing about that tonight. You need to rest. We'll take care of Buckley in the morning.”

“Double-crossing piece of . . .”

“Well, that's not any new information, right? Didn't we always know he was one of the bad guys? Playing for the wrong team. . . .”

“Buckley makes his own team. He's the Green Party.”

Damien's chest expanded against my cheek and collapsed with his breath. “Let's just make sure you're healthy again, okay?” His fingers brushed my hair and he tipped my face up to his, dropping a sweet kiss on my nose.

An erection twitched in Damien's boxer briefs, raising the cotton into a pitched tent. I grazed my fingertips down his abs, feeling each ridge ripple and tense beneath my touch. “Maybe it's time you have a little luck thrown your way,” I whispered, looking up through a web of lashes into his eyes.

I curled a finger into the waistband of his briefs, toying with the sensitive skin there before gripping his thick cock in my palm. Heat flared through my body and my sex pulsed.

Damien's eyes had darted to mine and then clenched shut. “Monica—no.” His voice was soft but firm. “You need to rest.”

I clutched my hand around his shaft. If he wouldn't let me stroke, I could pulse and squeeze until he caved. With a groan, his head flopped onto the headboard. “What am I going to do with you?” His erection twitched in my hand, growing with each embracing pressure. “I'm serious, Monica. You need to rest.”

“They say orgasms help a headache,” I said with a smirk.

He rolled over me, holding his body up in a plank type of pose without placing weight anywhere on me. His triceps rippled with mountainous muscles, and veins throbbed in his massive forearms. “Then
you
will get an orgasm,” he said, running his tongue along his bottom lip.

I shook my head back and forth slowly and trailed my hands along his arms. “Nope. Either we both get one, or I'll have to suffer with this headache all night.”

Damien pressed a kiss to my neck, nipping the tender flesh there as he pulled away. “You're a difficult woman, you know that?” He slid down the length of my body and I caught him, cupping his face with both hands.

“Just where do you think you're going?”

“Don't worry—we'll take care of me later,” he growled. Nudging away from my hands, he lowered his face between my legs, tugging the boxers I wore down. The silk brushed against my skin, and goose bumps rose all the way down to my ankles.

I raised my arms to the bedpost, locking my hands in a grip above my head. Damien pressed his lips to my dripping sex, his kiss lingering between my legs. He licked my length, swirling his tongue into my opening.

His mouth and tongue moved with a fluidity, and with each lap, each flick, my muscles twitched involuntarily. The pressure inside slowly compressed little by little until it felt like a balloon about to pop. He nibbled on my clit, and my body jerked with the first contact of teeth on the sensitive nub.

He pulled back, sitting up on his knees and adjusting his massive erection. I reached out toward his waistband again, and he playfully slapped my hand away, his grin full of piss and pride. “Your rule—we both have to come. My rule, however, is that you must rest. Kind of leaves us at an impasse, huh, succubus?”

Tugging his boxer briefs down below his thighs, his erection sprang free, pointing toward me. He stroked his length with a gripping fist, eyes locked onto mine with the smallest smile tugging the corners of his mouth higher.

Every muscle in my body twitched at the sight. The sight of his head, dripping with his arousal, made my mouth drain of all fluid, as though every bit of moisture headed south. I parted my parched lips, hoping for a drink from his oasis, but Damien shook his head. “Tsk-tsk. I don't think so, babe.”

I walked a finger down my stomach and fluttered it over my clit. Just as I teetered on the edge of orgasm, Damien lifted my hand and took my finger into his mouth. His tongue rolled over my skin. Tortuously slow, he removed my finger from his puckered lips, sucking the whole while. “I don't think masturbating qualifies as rest, either.”

My breathing was a full-on pant at this point and I fisted my hand, slapping it down to bed next to me. “Then tell me—what does qualify as rest?”

He pumped his hand faster. “You—lying there. Doing nothing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

His grin widened. “Nothing.” He brought his massive hands down onto my thighs, spreading my legs and licking his lips like a wolf about to feast. Diving in once more, my body bucked beneath his lips and I fisted the comforter, unable to stifle my cry.