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Before she delivered the counterstrike, he shot out his wing, sweeping her off her feet. She toppled, the back of her head slamming into the sink. The porcelain cracked. He swung his sword once, twice, but she reeled to the left, blocked, then rolled past him and lurched to a stand, blocking again.
With a grunt, he drove her backward a second time. He would trap her in the stall. Except, the little vixen surprised him. The moment he stood upon the mat in front of the tub, she swooped down and pulled the wool out from under his feet.
As he fell, he kicked her ankles together. They crash-landed at the same time, air bursting from his lungs. Though his head swam, he leaped to his feet. She did the same. Panting, they circled each other.
Kill or be killed. Do your duty.
Voice ragged, she said, “You’d be a stellar opponent if you weren’t so easily distracted.”
“You might have killed me already if you had bigger breasts.” He had to add “might” in order to turn the lie into a supposition. Her breasts were perfect; every inch of her was perfect. He hoped the trash talk prompted her to rage. When your emotions took the wheel, you made mistakes.
She grinned, propelling his heart rate to warp speed. Lovely. Beyond lovely. Wicked, carnal. If she hadn’t murdered ten of his comrades, she would have tempted him to forget his vow of celibacy.
“If my breasts were bigger,” she all but purred, “you’d have died of a heart attack the second you spotted me.”
She wasn’t wrong.
He opened his mouth to offer some kind of rebuttal, only to pause. His ears twitched, a pair of footsteps snagging his attention. At least two people approached the bedroom. Most likely Galen and Legion.
For a moment, Fox went still. “Galen’s coming.” A curse exploded from her. “Do not hurt him. Do not challenge him. He’s done nothing wrong.”
Such a volatile reaction. From his research, Bjorn knew Fox and Galen enjoyed a close relationship. Not romantically, he didn’t think. Galen had an unwavering obsession for his girlfriend, a former demon minion turned immortal human. “You have my word. No harm will come to him this day. There is an invisible blockade around the entire room. No one, not human, immortal or god can enter in any way, shape or form. Not through a door, or a window, or a portal. Not even a flash.” The Underworld’s word for teleporting.
“How is that possible?” she demanded.
“A bloodline.” Before Bjorn kicked his way into the bathroom, he’d poured a mixture of his blood and Water of Life around the bedroom’s perimeter, creating a powerful force field.
“Why would—the demon,” she said, answering her own question before she finished speaking it.
“Exactly right.” Once Bjorn removed Fox’s head, the demon would lose its host and have to be captured, then transported back to Hell.
As he began to swing his weapon, Fox dove to the floor, rolled past him and leaped to her feet to sprint out of the bathroom. At the same time, he fought to slow the momentum of his swing…and failed. The sword’s flames singed a line of soot into the wall, the pungent scent of burnt plaster saturating the air.
At least she remained in his sights. The woman halted in the center of the chamber and attempted to open a portal. When she failed, courtesy of the bloodline, she belted out a curse.
Bjorn gave chase, releasing the hilt of his sword. In an instant, the flames died, and the weapon vanished. Despite an increase in pain, his wounds bleeding faster, he dove into Fox, tossing her to the floor. Instinct insisted he twist mid-air to absorb the worst of the impact.
An instinct he ignored.
This wasn’t a usual situation, and she wasn’t a usual target. Saving her from a bit of soreness would only hinder his cause; a concussion might knock her out and save him the hassle of subduing her. And he wouldn’t feel guilty about it. He wouldn’t!
Impact! A heavy thud as she landed. A heavier thud as he landed on top of her. She gasped and struggled to get free, bucking and throwing elbows. He remained on top of her, different parts of him pinning different parts of her. As quickly as possible, he caught her wrists and wound her arms behind her back, shackling her hands between their bodies.
His blood dripped all over her, smearing on her skin. An obscene sight he found distasteful, but he didn’t know why. “Enough, female. You lost. Time to accept it.”
She bucked with more force, her scent hitting his awareness. He went still. His veins heated, white-hot desire rushing to his groin. That fragrance…so incredibly sweet. Too sweet for a cold-blooded killer. It fogged his head, enveloping him in a sensual cloud.
“You have signed your death warrant, warrior,” she said with gritted teeth.
“When I slay you, and I will, all the world shall hear your screams. Tell me. How will you deliver my death then, hmm?” The feel of her… Softer than he’d expected. Hotter, too.
I’ll sport an erection for the rest of my life.
Suddenly, the bedroom door split down the middle. Galen marched through it, clutching two short swords. The second the male with wings of ivory hit the invisible wall of energy, he bounced back. More enraged by the minute, he used the sword to hack at the barrier, his navy gaze continually shifting to Fox. All the while, he shouted obscenities and threats.
Finally, Galen switched his gaze to Bjorn, watching as he held out his arm, palm open. The sword reappeared, flames quickly spreading over the blade. Fox slowed before stilling altogether.
Go on. Do it! His grip tightened on the hilt as he glared down at her. She lay on her stomach, panting, her head angled to the right, revealing her profile. There was a slight discoloration on her jaw, a bruise already forming. His chest tightened.
She bellowed, “What are you waiting for? Do it or release me. You have no other options.”
Yasssss. Kill her! But…his chest tightened further, constricting his airways. Could he—should he?—do the deed in front of the male who loved her? Was he truly so cruel? Galen had done nothing to earn a punishment from the Sent Ones. Not recently, anyway.
No. Bjorn wasn’t so cruel.
Gnashing his molars, he swung the sword. Instead of removing her head, he brushed his thumb over the bottom of the sword hilt, freeing a needle from confinement. Then he angled his wrist midway, ensuring the hilt and the needle laced with a temporary paralytic slammed into her temple.
Her entire body fell lax, her eyes closing.
Being an immortal, she healed faster than normal, so he must work fast. Ignoring Galen, who still beat at the wall, Bjorn rolled Fox to her back. He released the weapon, and it vanished once again. With his knees pressing into her shoulders, he freed the vial of powder that hung from a chain around his neck.
As he uncorked the top and poured the contents into his hand, the paralytic wore off. Her eyelids fluttered open, and their gazes met once again. His shaft throbbed.
She squirmed and bucked, desperate to unseat him. When she failed, she glared up at him and screamed, “Do it, then! Put me out of my misery.” Her eyes widened as s
oon as the words registered; the command had surprised her. It had certainly surprised Bjorn. “I’ve been fighting to survive for so long,” she said, her tone soft. “I’m tired.”
The strangest urge hit him. To gently, tenderly brush back a lock of hair from her brow. He ground his molars, resisting with all his might. “You wish to die? Then you will live—for a little while. Until I tire of your suffering.”
Leaning down, he blew the powder into her face. She coughed until her body fell limp once again, sagging against the floor.
He did not let himself look at her again. Not really. He wasn’t sure how he’d react to seeing her lying motionless. But, he did keep his attention focused in her general direction as he stood and stalked to the closet, walking backward so he wouldn’t have to turn his back. A compliment he only extended to the greatest of warriors.
When he reached his destination, he reached out, searching blindly, still unwilling to remove his attention from her. If she faked her unconsciousness…or if she hadn’t, and she awoke, they would fight again. Could he win another round? Multiple wounds ached and bled profusely, making him hemorrhage strength at an alarming rate.
When he brushed against a buttery-soft garment, he yanked it from the hanger. A T-shirt. Excellent. He stalked to the dresser and selected socks and a pair of panties. Silk, in various colors. Lace.
Bjorn imagined Fox wearing every scrap of material he lifted, and his erection throbbed harder. In the end, he selected a gold one with flecks of green, because it matched her eyes.
This is ridiculous. He returned to Fox and tugged the shirt over her head, then fit her arms through the appropriate holes. Next, he closed his eyes and slid the panties up her legs. Such silken skin.
Ignore! He opened his eyes and hefted her over his shoulder, then met Galen’s gaze.
The blond male stopped beating at the invisible wall at last, instead choosing to point an accusing finger at Bjorn. A warning.
