Kai wondered if Asmodeus had been after her for all of those fifty years. That night on Pfeiffer Beach, perhaps she'd meant to trade him. A life for a life. His for hers. Thinking back on it, the men who'd killed him could well have belonged to Asmodeus.
For fifty years, he'd agonized over the answers, wanting to know why. Could it really be as simple as this? Could Amber have sacrificed him to try and pay whatever debt she'd owed the demon of lust?
She met his gaze and he was blindsided by a rush of memories. She was beautiful. Her brows were finely arched and winged up at the sides, her eyes light brown, flecked in gold. Unable to resist, he reached out and stroked a tumbled curl back from her cheek. He'd dreamed of her hair, her skin. The feel. The smell.
He leaned a little closer. Her lips parted. He knew the shape of them—the lower slightly fuller than the upper. Knew the feel of them. The taste.
"I saved your life in there," he said softly. "The least you can do is give me an honest answer. What do you owe Asmodeus? And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."
For an endless second, they just stood there, connected by the tips of his fingers where they rested on the arc of her cheek and by memories and history and a fine humming tension that sparked the night air.
"I saved my own life," she said, flinching away from his touch. He followed her gaze to his fingers. They were smeared with blood, and he'd transferred some to her skin. Probably best not to tell her that.
With a shudder, she scrubbed the heel of her palm against her cheek, then stared at the blood that was now on her hand. Her gaze slowly returned to his.
"And I don't know what you're talking about." The words were low and emphatic, like she was pouring her will into them. "I don't know who Asmodeus is."
"Do you think I believe you? Do you think I've forgotten what happened the last time I trusted you?" He huffed a short laugh. "You were always secretive, and I made excuses for that. Convinced myself you'd open up in time. Was there ever a word of truth in anything you told me?"
She didn't answer, but something flickered in her eyes. Guilt? Regret?
"I died," he said. "You got me killed."
"I got you—" She pressed her lips together and exhaled sharply through her nose, a sound of contempt. "You're not dead now."
"And neither are you. Care to explain that?"
Indecision skittered across her features. And then she locked down, her expression closing. "You first."
She said it like she expected him to decline. But if tit for tat was what it took to get some answers out of her, he was fine with that.
"No problem. But not here." He tightened his grip on her wrist as he felt her muscles twitch. She meant to escape him. Good luck with that.
She stared at him for a long moment, and he didn't like the way it made him feel. Like he was the bad guy. Which, actually, he was, thanks to her. Before she'd sent him out to die, he'd been a good guy. The help-an-old-lady-across-the-street, get-a-cat-out-of-a-tree, donate-blood kind of guy.
Now, he was a survival-of-the-fittest kind of guy.
"Are there more of them out there?" she asked with a glance toward the edge of the roof.
He wasn't surprised. She'd always been practical. "You'll save your meltdown for later?"
"Not now. And not later," she said, and he knew it was true. Just one more thing that had made him fall in love with her. She'd never been the type to pitch a fit.
Love. Hate. Fine line in between. Whatever he felt for her, it was colored by a heavy dose of lust.
The past slammed head-on into the present. He'd always been gentle back then. Careful. As if she were made of spun glass. He didn't want to be now. He wanted to open his mouth on hers, taste her lips, her skin. He wanted to press her down right here, on the roof, under the stars. Cover her. Take her. Plunge into the heat of her. Make up for all the years of pain and loss.
He wanted that with a fierceness that shocked him. Just from standing near her. Christ. It was all he could do not to give in and act on the need.
At the same time, he was acutely aware of the fact that whatever vengeance he'd dreamed about, he didn't want to hurt her. He just wanted to feel himself deep inside of her.
Amber froze, her eyes going wide, her pupils dilating. She sensed it, the thing inside him that pulsed and ached.
Scrubbing his palm along his jaw, he exhaled on a dark laugh.
"There are at least four more," he said, answering her earlier question, pretending that the beast lurking inside him wasn't a hair away from getting out. "They're Topworld grunts who work for Asmodeus, and they're a long way from home."
Which was the reason he was here at all. Sutekh's youngest son had been murdered, sending the entire Underworld into a tailspin. Anything out of the ordinary was suspect, and a slew of Asmodeus's grunts heading to San Francisco was out of the ordinary.
"The ones I recognize are all from his Toronto crew," he continued. "Big Ralph's boys."