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Her brow furrowed, and she took a step backward. “Your man’s sick. No way I’m getting whatever he’s got.”
“He’s not sick,” Tucker said.
“Kiss my ass.” She turned and started walking away.
Doyle reached up and clawed at the door handle. Tucker was right; he needed it—needed her—and he needed it now.
“Wait,” Tucker called. She turned, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “Kiss him,” Tucker said, and Doyle didn’t need to see his partner’s eyes to understand. “Kiss him nice and hard.”
She teetered a bit on her heels, then sauntered back to the car, her eyes glassy and slightly confused. “Got a freebie for you, sickie-poo,” she said, leaning into the window so that the shelf of her breasts balanced on the window ledge. “Come to Mama.”
He did, leaning into the kiss and opening his mouth wide.
Opening and sucking and feeding and—
Oh, fuck yeah…
Her soul filled him. Nourished him. And, yeah, it roused the darkest parts of his demonic half.
Right then, he didn’t care. The strength flowed back, and he wondered how he’d ever given it up. How could he have thought to exist without this? Weak as a kitten and docile as a bunny?
This was it. This was good. This was power and strength and—
Beneath him, the woman made a mewling noise. Tucker’s bond had broken, the soul that remained within her insufficient to accept the suggestion.
He needed to back off. Needed to leave her some. With even a scrap, she’d heal. Wouldn’t be hollow. Wouldn’t be a shell. A casing for one of the incorporeal creatures to fill.
He knew all that, yet he clung to her, the taste of the power flooding him too sweet to resist.
He felt Tucker tug at his arm. Heard him mutter words of protest, his tone frantic, but his words indistinct. Then he felt another poke, and—holy fuck—the asshole was inside his head.
Let go.
Doyle did, releasing the whore in an instant, minute scraps of her soul still intact. He rounded on Tucker, his hands to his partner’s throat, his blood boiling as he pressed the traitor up against the driver-side window.
“Never,” he said, slowly. “You do not fucking get inside my head.”
“You were…destroying her,” Tucker said, gasping for air.
“Who the fuck cares?”
“I thought you did.”
That got through, and Doyle released Tucker, shooting back against the car door, horrified by what he’d just done. “Tucker, I—”
Tucker held up a hand to stave off the apology. “You together now?”
Doyle took a breath and clenched his fists, fighting, concentrating, until he felt his demon side slip reluctantly beneath the surface. “Yeah,” he said, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. “Sure.”
“She’ll be okay?”
Doyle thought of the strands of soul he’d left her. They’d grow back, sure. But he’d stolen from her. Cheated her. And that left a mark.
“Doyle?” Tucker pressed. “We need to get to Malibu. Search Dragos’s house.”
“Malibu, then.” He glanced out the window to where Sally lay curled up on the sidewalk. “But we make a stop first. Orlando’s.”
* * *
