Sweet Temptation (9 page)

“I can feel you watching even when you're nowhere to be seen,

I can feel you touching even when you're far away from me.”

—“Voodoo Doll” by 5 Seconds of Summer

W
e make good time. As we near L.A., I consider going straight to a hotel, but I'm not quite ready to throw us into another awkward situation.

“It's still early,” I say. “Let's drive through L.A. or Hollywood.”

Anna agrees, and moments later she squeals, “Oh, my gosh, Kai, look! The Hollywood sign!”

God, her excitement is cute. Every little thing. It's amazing. And then I replay her words.

“You called me Kai.” It's the first time, and it feels . . . big. I have no idea where all these pansy-arsed feelings are coming from and how I keep letting them slip in so easily, or why it
feels less and less important for me to block them. It's like I'm rebelling against my own damned self.

“What are your friends like?” Anna asks. She's turned toward me, practically bouncing in her seat to learn more about me and the people in my life. My vision darkens at the reminder that my friends are Neph. I am Neph, and Anna is Neph. I cannot forget that, no matter how far removed I might feel from that life at this particular moment.

So, I decide to be honest about each of them—Blake, the son of the Duke of Envy, Marna and Ginger, the daughters of the Duke of Adultery—they work, just like me. They understand this life.

I can see from Anna's frown that my explanations disturb her and her ideas of right and wrong and justice, but she needs to know.

And then there's Kopano, son of the Duke of Wrath. He is more difficult to explain. My feelings toward him are a tightly wound bundle of admiration and jealousy.

Kope was trained at eleven and worked several years until having an extreme change of heart. As a young teen he defied his father and refused to work any longer. With anyone else, this would have resulted in death, but Duke Alocer turns a blind eye to his son's defiance. None of the Dukes know about Kopano's resistance of his wrathful nature. Only our small group knows.

To make matters more insane, Kopano not only suffers from the sin of wrath, but he's also inflicted with the sin of lust, which his father promoted hundreds of years ago before my father was brought to earth to take some of the load. I am
the only Neph who knows this, because I figured it out on my own. How he fights against two urges is beyond me.

To be honest, I'd prefer to never be around Kope, because his presence is maddening. So bloody noble he makes me ill. I try to keep my voice even as I tell Anna about Kope. I'm careful to leave out the lust part.

Anna is watching me too carefully as I explain Kopano's situation, and I wonder if I've sparked too much interest in him. The two of them would make the perfect saintly Neph pair, a thought that sends a burn through my chest. I wait for Anna to say something like, “If he can go against his nature, why can't you?” or some shite that will send me off the deep end again. It's just not that simple.

“Kope is a mystery,” I quickly say with finality.

I'm relieved when she lets it drop.

A lot of lust lives in Hollywood, along with every other sin. Some areas of the city are a cesspool of funk and desperation. An ugly part of me stirs when I think about diving headfirst into what's being offered, but I shake the dark thought away, afraid Anna will be able to sense it. Then I look over and see that she's pressed back into her seat, her forehead tense.

Oh, no. Is she
feeling
all of this? The thought that Anna, with all her positive energy, is taking in all the negativity given off by these people makes me want to roll over all of these convertibles and get her the hell out of here. I have no idea where this protective instinct has come from, but I can't control it.

“Is it too much for you here?” I ask.

“It's hard,” she admits. “But not because it's Hollywood. Even Atlanta is hard for me sometimes.”

She's downplaying it.

“I'll get us out of here,” I say. When we stop at a light, I scroll through my mobile's GPS for the best side street to get us off the main road.

I hear a click and zip and look over to see Anna opening her wallet. What the? Tell me she's not giving money to one of those celebrity home tour scammers. I peer over and see who she's staring at. An old, homeless woman.

Don't
, I think to myself. That kind of giving act makes blokes like me squirm with discomfort. It's too much.

“You're wasting your money,” I say. The woman's probably a drunk or something.

“Maybe,” Anna whispers. “Maybe not.”

I hold my breath and watch in awe as Anna rolls down the window and the woman makes her way to the car. The way they stare at each other sends a chill down my spine.

“God bless you,” the woman says to Anna as she takes the money. Her aura is clear and grateful, which means she's not high or drunk, as I'd suspected. Before she can turn to leave, Anna is opening her purse and dumping out all of the money into the woman's hands.

I'm an outsider watching their intimate exchange, but I can't look away. I've never seen anything like this happen between two strangers. Complete openness. Selflessness. Thankfulness.

I feel strange. The woman walks away and Anna rolls her window up. She seems at peace for a moment, and then she looks back down at her wallet and her face falls.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “That was presumptuous of me. But she—”

“What on earth are you apologizing for?” My eyes roam
her beautiful face, her tied-back hair, her swirled badge. She drops her eyes and I realize she feels bad because now I'll have to cover her expenses. It must've given her some sense of comfort to know she could pay for something if necessary.

I tear my eyes from Anna and back to the road when the light turns. My hands tingle, and it's spreading. My heart is beating entirely too hard as unfamiliar feelings swell to an alarming size, filling every available space of my body and soul.

I'm nervous and excited all at once. I want her. I want Anna with every hot-blooded cell of my body, and I wish I could say it was only lust. Lust is familiar. What I'm feeling is huge and frightening and altogether unfamiliar. I want more than her skin and touch. I want
all
of her—all the madness that goes along with a female—the small touches and laughter, the talking after the hookup, the phone calls and hand-holding. I want it more than I've ever needed sex.

Bugger. Shite. No. This is too much for me. I am freaking out.

And then I nearly slam on the brakes and shout. Up ahead on the boulevard is a shadowy demon spirit. It takes all my control not to panic and bust a U-turn in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard, bunging up every car in my path, but that would draw even more attention. So I keep calm as I speak.

“Legionnaire.” I hold my hand down and point in the direction of the demon whisperer. Anna sucks in a breath and stares around blankly. She still can't see them! I explain what the spirit is doing. “Whispering to that man in the blue suit. If he comes this direction I'm going to ask you to hide. Be ready to move.”

She slides lower in the seat and we both watch the contact between a man and a prostitute. I wish Anna didn't have to see this. I'm prepared to order her down to the floor, but when the couple walks off, the whisperer flies down an alley and is gone.

I grip the wheel and grit my teeth to keep from shaking. Bringing Anna into Hollywood was royally stupid. I mumble angrily and get us out of there, wanting to bowl down every slow pedestrian in my path. What had I been thinking? I'd been so keen on wanting to watch her experience life that I forgot about the myriad of negative experiences to be had as well.

When had I
ever
forgotten that before now? Never. It's usually the other way around.

I am so deeply ensnared in her angel voodoo. I know I should run. I should drop her at the nearest hotel and leave her far behind like the ticking bomb she is, but I feel as if I physically can't. A new craving has taken root and the deepest part of me salivates for it. I can't leave her yet.

Just a bit longer
, I tell myself. I promised Patti I'd get Anna to this nun and to Duke Belial, and then I will leave her for good and get my mind right again.

However, for now I think I'll let myself indulge in this new sensation while I can. I feel as if I'm carrying some epic secret, and the only reason I'm safe is that nobody else will ever know. It's so rare to feel anything different, anything
positive
, and this is most definitely out of the ordinary. Shiny. New. Amazing.

Temporary.

In our room I change into basketball shorts and flop onto my bed.

“We could go for a swim,” I suggest.

“Didn't bring a bathing suit,” she tells me.

Damn. I don't suppose the hotel allows skinny-dipping.

“Kaidan . . .” Her sweet voice sails over me, relaxing me. “What happened to all of the Nephilim? Why are there so few of us now?”

So much for feeling relaxed. She will not let this subject go until I tell her. Yes, she needs to know our Nephilim history, but I hate seeing how it affects her. Female tears are one of my least favorite substances in creation.

I sigh and move to sit next to her. She listens raptly as I explain the Great Purge—the killing of every Neph on earth over one hundred years ago—and the measures the Dukes have since taken to keep our numbers at bay.

Anna covers her mouth in horror as it sinks in. “They sterilize them?” There's shock and question in her eyes.

“Yes, me too,” I say. “All of us had the procedure.” I'd been eleven when Father flew a Neph doctor from India to our London home to give me a vasectomy. My body had burned through the pain meds faster than the doctor could administer them. I cringe as I recall it.

Anna becomes angry and indignant now. She jumps to her feet to pace and turn away from me, but I can see in the way she wraps her arms around herself that she's crying. I lie back against the headboard.

“I knew it would only upset you,” I say with regret.

“Of course it upsets me! Doesn't it upset you?”

She looks right at me, full of passion about the things I don't let myself ponder.

“There's no use wasting time thinking about things that can't be changed.”

She comes back over and sits next to me, pulling her knees up to her chin and sliding her feet under the blanket. I want to comfort her with my arms, because I don't have the words to make any of this right. I move closer, talking low, and take her hand into mine.

She watches our hands together—the way I trace her small fingers and thumb. I want her to look up at me.

Look at me, lovely Anna.

We're so close. I want a redo on our kiss. I want to do it properly this time, and stay in control of the beast. I want to own that gorgeous mouth for as long as she'll let me. I want to roll around the bed with her, completely clothed, testing the limits of my control for this girl until she's ready for more.

Her heartbeat is visible in the soft skin at her neck—fast and hard. I'm making her nervous. With disappointment, I raise her hand to my mouth and kiss the pad of her thumb. Then I let her go and stand. I'm shocked by how good I feel, even with the low rumble of constant pain plaguing me.

“Get some rest,” I say.

She scrambles under the covers and hides her face. I wish I could see her colors.

I climb into my own bed, though I'm not at all tired. My skin is prickling with energy and the low throb of pain pulses in my abdomen. Can I truly go a whole day without feeding the beast? Today, I feel as if I can fight it. I feel like I can take on the world. For the first time ever, I want to attempt not to work.

“Kaidan?” she whispers.

My pulse sprints. “Yes?”

“I'm not trying to judge. I'm just curious. Um . . . are you going out tonight?”

The concern and jealousy in her voice send a thrill to my core and I bite down and swallow. “I don't think I will.”

She says nothing as my heart pounds, and I'd do anything to see her colors again. Is she happy? Is she proud of me?

I'm not ready to fall asleep. Tomorrow is a big day for Anna. The day she meets her father. The plan was to meet the nun first, but when Anna called the convent, she was told Sister Mary was not well enough to visit yet.

I know she's nervous, but I don't know how to help her with that. What is special to Anna? People. Her spirituality. I've seen her pray over meals, silently. It freaks me out a bit, I won't lie. Inviting the Maker into one's thoughts . . . I shudder at the idea. But it's part of her, and I need her to know I accept it.

“Ann?”

“Yes?”

“It won't bother me if you need to, you know, properly pray, however you do it.”