Sin Undone

Shit. Her blood was tempting him. She closed her eyes, cursing silently. She’d allowed Eidolon to stitch her arm once, instead of using his healing powers. Maybe this time—


Hot breath fanned over her arm, and her eyes shot open. Con’s mouth was close, so close… Yes, just this once… “Do it,” she whispered, and for all of that, he hesitated. His trembling worsened, and he reached for the vamp spit. Without thinking, Sin cupped the back of his head and brought his lips to her arm. The wound was a deeply personal pain, and she wasn’t about to let some strange medical concoction near it. Then again, was letting Con be a part of that pain any better?

Her emotions wobbled, and she exhaled slowly, unsure she could handle such intimacy. No, she was sure. She couldn’t.

Just as she was about to push him away, he moaned, let out a shuddering breath, and sank his body against her, and in a heartbeat, her concern seemed distant. His arousal was a massive presence against her core, and his hands, still encased in surgical gloves, slipped under her tank top to grip her waist. How the hell the slide of latex on her skin could feel so erotic was beyond her, but she wished he’d either move his hands up to her breasts or lower to her sex so she could see just how much more erotic it could get. Unfortunately, he kept them tamely motionless, his grip tight, as if he were afraid that if he loosened it, he’d do exactly what she was hoping for.

Slowly, tentatively, he swept his tongue from the base of the cut to the crest. The soothing caress eased the pain, and with each slow lap, it eased more, until there was nothing left but a mildly pleasant sting.

And a throbbing lust that penetrated all the way to her core.

Beneath Con’s skin, his muscles were bunched, his body tense, and she sensed something dark inside, something he was trying to contain.

“Con?” She slid her hand over his back, and beneath her palm, his muscles rippled and jumped. He uttered something in a language she didn’t know, but she was pretty sure it was a nasty curse. Abruptly, he leaped back, and at the same moment, someone pounded on the rear door. A rumbling voice came from the other side. “Send the succubus out, or everyone inside dies.” Con didn’t take time to think. Instinct roared to the surface, and he lunged, taking Sin down to the rig’s deck, covering her body with his. Ten seconds ago, when he was battling bloodlust, he’d have gotten off on the feeling of her hard form against his harder one, of her thighs cradling him between them, but right now, his only concern was keeping her safe.

If she died, so might the only hope for getting rid of the virus in his blood.

Plus, her brothers would kill him. A lot.

“Who is it?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “I don’t recognize the voice. Must be the Carceris.”

“They couldn’t have found us that quickly. Not without a hellhound or a blood tracker. It’s gotta be an assassin.”

She cursed. “Let me up.”

There wasn’t enough room in the aisle between the bench seat and the stretcher to let her up even if he wanted to. “I’m going to start the engine and get us out of here. Stay down.” She didn’t argue, miracle of miracles, and he eased himself off of her, backing slowly on his hands and knees toward the opening between the box section of the rig and the cab. He paused at the tiny doorway and listened, allowing his superior hearing to search out anything out of the ordinary. All he picked up were the normal sounds of a city. Tires on asphalt, honking horns, humans chatting as they funneled in and out of subway stations. There was nothing that might indicate the number of assailants outside the ambulance.

He peered into the cab and saw a male demon just outside the driver’s window. Shit. He eased back. “Nightlash at the front.” “Sparkly pink ring in his nose?”

Con did a double take. “Yeah. Real manly.”

“It’s Zeph.” She eased to her hands and knees. “The one out back will be a Ramreel named Trag. They’re partners. Never work alone.” “Your assassins?”

She snared her pants and jammed her legs into them. “Bastards.”

“So that’s a yes.” Con blew out a breath. “I thought you didn’t recognize the voice.”

“Trag is an expert at disguising it. But the good news is that I know how they work.” She’d produced a throwing knife, and she held it loosely in her fingers, ready to throw. “They probably don’t know about the Haven spell, but they don’t plan to come inside to kill me anyway. If you don’t shove me outside, they’ll bust open the doors and use ranged weapons to kill me.”

“Guns?”

“Doubtful. More likely they’ll use poison darts or fireballs.”

“You have fifteen seconds,” the male near the rear doors called out, and Sin leaped nimbly to her feet.