Know Thine Enemy

Epilogue



He wasn't the type of guy to spout sonnets, but, damn, there were nights she made him consider it.

Watching her was one of his favorite pastimes—a simple luxury he would have once taken for granted but now treasured. It sat alongside kissing her before they fell asleep and waking up with her in his arms. Small things he wouldn't have considered as essential to a relationship—things he hadn't known to miss every day before she became his.

Much like the night they first locked gazes, Izzie was engaged in combat with three slow-witted vamps. She twisted, turned, ducked, and blocked each feeble attempt to catch her off guard, never slowing, never tiring. And, though she had it on her, she had yet to flash her dagger in warning. This wasn't about a kill. She hadn't drawn blood since Michael, and, even then, Ryker had been the one to end his cousin's life.

"All right, boys," Izzie said, her stance relaxing. "I think you've had enough."

Her three opponents stood on the other side of the alley, all panting in exhaustion, one bent with his hands on his knees.

"The . . . f*ck . . . are you, lady?" one whined.

"I'm Connor's muscle. Let's call this a warning, shall we? Start shit up again, and I won't be so pleasant." Izzie offered a friendly smile, slowly retrieving her dagger from where she now kept it in her boot. "Trust me when I say I know how to use this."

Ryker grinned and stepped out of the shadows. The three goons jumped in shock; Izzie just arched her eyebrows at him.

"Lurk much?" she drawled.

"You snuck outta bed early. Fella wonders." He smirked and nodded to her new friends. "And here I find you're taking on three guys at once?"

"I know. They didn't even have the courtesy to buy me dinner."

The designated group leader found his voice again long enough to ask, "Wh-who are you?"

"The guy who'll f*ck you up and good if I see you're causing my lady trouble." Ryker paused. "'Course, that in itself would be a wonder. See, she used to be a demon hunter."

"I did," Izzie agreed. "Not so much anymore, but I could be persuaded into coming out of retirement if I hear you three have given Connor anything resembling a headache. Think you can remember that?"

The trio exchanged glances then nodded rapidly. "Yes," the spokesman ventured. "W-we won't be back."

"All right." Izzie nodded. "Now haul ass."

Like three bats out of Hell, they went, scurrying loudly up the alleyway until they were out of sight.

Once he was satisfied they were alone, Ryker smirked and swayed toward his lady with intent. "Connor asked you to do that?"

"They were being obnoxious. I offered to put the fear of God in them."

"Awful hospitable of you."

Izzie grinned, throwing her arms around his neck. "And for the record, I tried like eighteen times to wake you up after he called me."

"You put me in a sex-induced coma. Not complaining, but let's give credit where credit's due."

"Even still," she said, "You're not the easiest guy to . . . erm . . . ."

"To what? Arouse?" He dipped his head and nuzzled her mouth. "I disagree."

She made a face. "You know what I mean."

"It's not my fault I willfully misunderstand."

Izzie chuckled. "No, of course not."

"Mmm. You know what we haven't done in a while?" Ryker hiked her into his arms without awaiting permission and carried her over to one of the alley buildings so she was sandwiched between him and the wall.

"Done the nasty in a nasty place?"

His hand slipped under the waistband of her leggings. "You read my mind."

"Ryker, we have—"

"All the time we want."

Izzie licked her lips, then favored him with one of those looks that made him fall in love with her all over again. "I'll try to be quiet."

He palmed her mound, his fingers dipping between her wet p-ssy lips. He spread her wide and tapped her swollen * once for good measure. "Oh please," Ryker murmured, inching an eager digit inside her. "Not for my sake."

"Ryker—"

"My love?"

"Why aren't you inside me?"

He frowned and plunged another finger into her hot, tight hole. "You didn't say please."

"Don't make me make you beg."

Ryker laughed. If anyone could, it'd be her.

Izzie's hands busied themselves at his belt buckle before she grew impatient and ripped the offending leather in half in one of the best uses of her newfound strength he could summon to mind. In seconds, his erect cock was in her cool, tight grasp.

"Now. Fast," she whimpered.

"No. Slow, hard, and dirty."

"Just do it."

Ryker grinned and kissed her, and she sucked him in like a vortex.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips.

"I love you, too."

"Now where do you want me, again?"

Izzie whimpered and squeezed his cock. "Oh, bite me."

"I'm telling you, you gotta say please."

"Fine, have it your way."

"Always do."

"Please," she murmured, then swallowed him in a kiss.

Clothing shuffled and fell away, then he was clenched inside the only home he'd ever known, wrapped around her, drowning in her. Over and over again—night after night. This was the peace for which he'd searched without knowing, and if he had his way, they'd never spend a night apart.

Forever wouldn't be long enough. It was, however, one hell of a start.



About the Author



A lifelong enthusiast of larger-than-life characters, Rosalie Stanton's muse is fueled by alpha males, from badass bikers to scruffy-looking Nerf herders, and the intelligent, strong and independent women who actually do the driving. She loves interweaving the lives of people who appear to be polar opposites and delving beneath the surface to see how well one actually complements the other.

Rosalie lives in Missouri with her husband. Writing is her first creative love, but she also enjoys working with other authors and has a variety of critique partners, and likewise works as an editor. At an early age, she discovered a talent for creating worlds into which she could escape. Over the years, her vivid imagination evolved into a love of words and storytelling. Rosalie graduated with a degree in English and is now a multi-published author. Neither writing nor editing pays the bills, but thankfully her day-job employers understand where her true passion lies. When her attention is not engaged by writing or editing, she enjoys spending time with close friends and family.