“You didn’t come,” he said, and plunged into her again. Ruthlessly.
“I never do.”
“It’s impossible to not orgasm for me.” He doubled his efforts. “Must be your injuries . . .”
“So I didn’t get off. Tuck your ego back in your pants and deal with it.”
Criminy. Even in dreams men were crybabies when it came to their sexual prowess. In dreams . . . her thought trailed off as her mind finally registered what he’d said.
Injuries? She reached between them and winced when she touched a sensitive spot over her ribs. What had happened?
“Doc?” He didn’t respond, was too deep inside her, stroking, threatening to bring her back to the place that walked the terrible line between orgasm and frustration. “Stop. Please. What happened to me?”
He looked down at her with dark eyes. What had happened to the gold? Where had the dream gone?
“Cruentus demon.”
The answer slammed her back to reality, and this time, when the breath caught in her lungs, it hurt like hell. Images flashed through her brain. The sewer. Blood. Pain. Janet.
No. Oh, no. This was real.
Her heart kicked against sore ribs as she took in the shadowy room and medical equipment. The strange designs on the walls. No, not designs. Writing. Not a language she recognized. Odd, ancient-looking objects adorned shelves inside locked glass cabinets. Was that one thing mounted on the wall a . . . skull?
Where was she?
Her sex contracted around the still-engorged penis inside her. And who was this man who had so thoroughly screwed her?
Narrow whips of air seared her throat as she tried to take in enough oxygen to remain clear-headed. He must have realized how close she was to panic, because he withdrew and set her down gently. Her bare feet hit the cold stone floor—what kind of hospital had stone floors?—and her hospital gown dropped down to cover her.
“Where am I?” she croaked.
“You’re in a hospital.” The dream doctor who’d just given her the most pleasant injection of her life guided her toward the bed with a firm grasp on her elbow. As she walked, the indisputable proof of their union dripped down her thighs, and why did it tingle, sensitizing her skin so that she wanted to rub it all over? “You were injured during a fight with a Cruentus demon.”
She jerked out of his grip. “How do you know about demons? What kind of hospital is this? Who are you?”
“Have a seat. I’ll explain everything.”
“Oh, no. Don’t give me that soothing bullshit tone.” She backed away as he moved toward her, trying to herd her toward the bed. He towered over her, eclipsing the crimson-tinted overhead lights. “Stay away from me.”
“Tayla, you need to listen to me.” His voice morphed into something deep and ominous, rattling what was left of her nerves.
The door opened, and someone, no, something dressed in scrubs, stepped inside. “Doctor,” it said through a mouthful of tusks, “you’re needed in the ER.”
Demon. Cold sweat broke out on her skin. “What in God’s name is this place?”
She whirled back to Eidolon and saw his eyes as they had been in her dream. Only it hadn’t been a dream. The room spun as realization bitch-slapped her. “You,” she rasped. “You’re a demon, too.”
He moved in a blur, and the prick of a needle stung her arm. Suddenly, she couldn’t move, couldn’t so much as scream as monsters surrounded her, strapped her to her bed.
Inside her head, though, the screams wouldn’t stop.
Three
Darkness fell like a guillotine blade, severing Tayla and her partner from the daylight. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked, and gunfire erupted, probably another gang drive-by, but Tay and Janet weren’t cops, and they didn’t care. Hell, even the cops wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. This part of New York City was a third-world country at war, and the cops had long ago gone U.N. and withdrawn from the battle.
Standing next to the sewer access, Tay fingered her jacket pocket where she kept her stang, an Sshaped, dual-ended blade, each end coated with a different metal. The gold side made short work of demons like the Cruentus they were hunting, and she wanted the weapon at the ready.
“Looks clear,” Tay said, and Janet lifted the heavy grating.
With a final glance into the night, they hurried down the ladder into tunnels ripe with the acrid stench of decay and waste. There were no lights, but the darkness posed no problem, not for any Aegis Guardian.
Out of habit—habit in the face of danger—Janet played with her necklace, a crucifix marked on the back with an etching of the Aegis shield. Tayla wiggled her pinky ring out of the same habit, but the protective talisman wouldn’t help her in this instance; her night vision had always been exceptional even without magic.