Alpha's Promise Page 7

  “No,” he said, following her close enough she could feel the heat off his body. The man was definitely hot blooded.

  Warmth trickled into her face. “For some reason, I’m experiencing nervousness about this.”

  He paused at the foot of her bed and looked around. “I could find some candles and play music.” His hand looked big and broad when he ran it through his thick hair. “I don’t have much experience with seduction.”

  Seduction? She didn’t need to be seduced, and with a body like his, he probably had women jumping all over themselves to bed him. Even with the scars down his neck, or maybe because of them, his features combined into a combination that was as deadly looking as beautiful. Add in the spectacular blue eyes, and no doubt he rarely lacked for female companionship. So that probably meant he’d never had to work for it. She sighed and moved to the bedside table. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not,” he said, rather dryly.

  She opened the drawer and withdrew two condoms, their wrappers only a little dusty. It had been quite a while. Then she placed lube and her pocket rocket on the table, shutting the drawer and turning to face him.

  His head cocked to the side in almost slow motion, his gaze on the narrow pink cylinder. “What is that?”

  Tingles swept up her skin, and her cheeks burned. Why, she didn’t know. “It’s a personal massager. To provide clitoral stimulation.” It wasn’t worth the time and mess if he was the only one who reached orgasm. With all the stress in the past week, she could use relief.

  For several heartbeats, he just stared at her. “Ah, baby. You’re not gonna need that.”

  She swallowed. How did he know that fact?

  An unidentifiable light glittered in his eyes, and then he prowled toward her, all muscled grace. When he came close enough that she could smell his masculine scent, he reached around her for the light pink device and flipped it on with one hand, drawing it between them. It instantly sprang into a familiar buzz, and she swallowed, trying without success to read his expression. Had she somehow insulted him? Being practical and adultlike about sex was necessary to reach satisfaction. “You’re not supposed to turn it on yet,” she murmured, her skin suddenly feeling too tight.

  He glanced down at the device between them, his heat washing over her. “Ah. When do I turn it on?” Without waiting for an answer, he lifted his hand and ran the pulsing tube down her neck.

  Vibrations tickled through her skin. She shivered. “When it’s closer to time.”

  “Closer to time?” His voice deepened even more, the hoarseness almost a physical burn. “You mean when I’m balls deep inside you—fucking you hard enough to rattle the walls?”

  His words sank even deeper than the vibration. “I’m amenable to dirty talk, but I don’t require it.” It was necessary to be up front in situations like this.

  “Amenable?” He continued exploring, sliding the massager across her clavicle. “What else are you amenable to?”

  She blinked several times as the pulses dug beneath her skin, somehow zinging down her chest to her breasts, even though he’d kept the massager just at her collarbone. What had he asked? Oh, yes. “Well. What pleases you?” She blinked, trying to concentrate on those glittering eyes studying her so intently. “I’m open to different positions. I, ah, believe most men are drawn to what’s commonly called ‘doggie style.’”

  The sound he made was a strangled groan. “Baby, if I fuck you from behind, you’ll be more than amenable.”

  Oh, lord, she had insulted him. “I should’ve waited until we were in bed before taking out the provisions. I’m sorry, Ivar.” She met his gaze directly as she made the apology.

  His smile came out of nowhere, making him look both boyish and lethal. “God, you’re sweet. And cute.”

  She amused him? Well, that was better than hurting his feelings. And she truly was curious about his hard body, so perhaps she hadn’t ruined the chance of physical intimacy for the night. “Okay. Shall we get in bed?”

  His entire body tensed, and he turned his head, his gaze going down and his ear lifting. Both of his nostrils flared like a hunter catching a scent. He flipped off the massager and tossed it on the bed, grasping her arm. “They’re here. We have to run.”

  * * * *

  A wave of power rolled over Ivar, and he settled into battle mode even as he grabbed Promise’s arm and all but dragged her from the bedroom. He’d been so thrown by her vibrator and lube, not to mention her willingness to sleep with him, that he had allowed himself to become distracted. Energy signatures cascaded from outside, from the street, drawing closer and making his muscles vibrate with the need to fight.

  The enemy was there.

  His blood heated and then flowed faster, providing him with oxygen he needed to battle. He recognized the signatures as Kurjans, coming from north and east. Kurjans were white-faced monsters with fangs who drank blood and enjoyed killing. It was rumored they were cousins to vampires, and that made sense, except vampires could venture into the sun. The sun killed Kurjans, which was why they’d waited until night to attack.

  And he’d been busy playing with Promise and her personal massager.

  He kept his grip firm and led her through the living room to the sliding back door. Thunder bellowed high and strong, and the clouds opened up with a roar. The grass looked already soaked. When had it started raining hard?

  She fought his hold. “What are you doing?” Her small feet tried to dig into the sensible tiles, and she pulled back, fighting as she slid where he wanted her to go.

  He yanked the door open, and rain splattered inside, thrown by the chilly wind. There wasn’t time to grab her shoes or a coat, but at least it wasn’t too cold outside. “They’re coming down the street. We’ll have to go this way.”

  She bent at the waist, pulling back, trying to free her arm. “What are you talking about? I didn’t hear anything.”

  Neither had he. Panic tried to grab him, and he pushed it away. Promise’s safety was all that mattered. “I sense them,” he muttered.

  The doorbell rang, and they both froze. Her eyes widened. “The killer is ringing my doorbell?” she whispered, incredulity tilting her mouth.

  So they didn’t know he was there. They’d sense him any second. He needed to find safety for her and now. “Guess so.” Without waiting for an answer, he tugged her into the storm, all but forcing her across the fenced backyard toward the cliff, where the ocean crashed far below. Rain poured down, sliding into his eyes. Wet grass covered his boots. The wind battered them as if trying to force them back inside. He shook his head, reaching the edge and pressing his lips toward her ear to whisper, “Is there a way down?”

  She elbowed him in the ribs and yanked wet hair out of her eyes. “No, you crazy bastard.” The rain soaked her pink blouse, molding the material perfectly to high breasts. Full breasts in perfect proportion to her curvy hips.

  He tore his gaze away from her and searched wildly around. They couldn’t go out the front door, and no doubt the Kurjans had the street covered. He leaned closer to the edge and peered down into the darkness. Way down. The tide was high, and waves pummeled over rocks to the shore. “There has to be a way to the beach.”

  She pointed her wet hand to the west. “About a mile that way, there’s a trail. You go that way, and I’ll answer my door.”

  They couldn’t go that way. The Kurjans were too close. The storm blanketed their signatures, but even so, he’d spent lifetimes hunting and fleeing predators too unimaginable for this world. Even when he had nothing else, he was a survivor. But the female next to him, the one fighting his hold again, was all human. Fragile and breakable.

  Giving her a jerk toward him, he freed his phone from his front pocket and pressed speed dial.

  “Ronan,” his brother answered easily, munching on something.

  “I’m at Promise’s home
, and the Kurjans are out front,” he said quickly. “Get to the beach below her house as soon as you can.” He clicked off.

  She slapped at his hand. “You really are crazy. I should’ve trusted my instincts, but no. I had to believe the guys in suits just because they had money to grant the university.”

  He dragged her to the nearest side fence and looked over to see a Kurjan jumping the fence at the other side of a wide yard. “Shit.”

  She bent over and bit his hand, trying to dislodge his grip.

  Without pausing, he pulled her back toward the edge of the cliff again, ignoring the pain.

  She stopped fighting him, gasping, her chest rising rapidly. “What in the world are you doing?” she hissed, her voice clear through the pounding rain.

  Oh, she wasn’t going to like this. Not at all. “Do you trust me, Missy?” he asked, seeing her easily in the dark.

  “No.” She kicked him in the shin with her bare foot and then winced, setting it back down in the wet grass. “Let me go, you lunatic.”

  It hurt a little that she didn’t trust him. It shouldn’t, and usually nothing hurt him, but they’d almost had sex. “You probably shouldn’t sleep with people you don’t trust,” he said, angling his head to see better. Even with his preternatural eyesight, the bottom of the cliff was dark. Way too dark.

  “I didn’t sleep with you.” She kicked him again, this time in the knee. “Let me go. I won’t call the cops. Just go away.”

  A flash of white caught his eye from the corner of the house. “Sorry about this.” He picked her up, holding her against his chest.

  She froze for a second and then sucked in air to scream. “No!” Her nails scraped down his damaged neck.

  He jumped, rolling in the air and wrapping himself around her as much as possible. Then he let gravity win.

  Chapter Ten

  Cold air rushed her, even while raw male heat surrounded her. The storm stole her screams. She shut her eyes, frantically fighting Ivar, until a spray of ocean caught her. They hit the beach hard, his back taking the brunt as he remained wrapped around her. The wind flew out of her lungs, constricting her entire torso. Wet sand sprayed in every direction. They bounced once and then smashed down again, burrowing into the sand.

  Promise panted out air, gasping to breathe.

  Water crashed over them, nearly reaching her face. She struggled to her hands and knees on his limp body. “Ivar,” she croaked, shaking violently.

  He lay prone on the ground. No way had he survived. She rolled to the side and partially stood, grabbing his T-shirt at the shoulders. When the water rolled in again, she used its momentum to pull him farther up the beach and out of the spray. Then she dropped to her knees next to him, listening for breathing.

  The rain pounded down, while the surf sprayed all over. Even the wind blew sand wildly around. She spit out sandy hair and tried to see. Was he breathing? She’d have to perform CPR. She flattened her hand on his chest, and it rose against her. How was he breathing? A rattle caught her attention.

  She shoved his shirt up and gingerly felt along his very ripped abdomen to his rib cage. His skin was smooth over wildly powerful muscles—harder than steel. Actual, real steel. How was that possible? He had to have a broken rib or several, but she couldn’t feel any damage. Not one. She looked frantically around. If a rib was broken, it would puncture his lung, if it hadn’t already done so. Where could she get help? Leaving him defenseless against the elements on the beach was a horrible idea, but running for the trail a mile away was her only chance to help him.

  Her hands shook, and she sucked in several deep breaths to stay calm. His life depended on it.

  He coughed and jerked conscious, immediately leaping to his feet, already crouching into a fighting stance.

  She dropped to her butt, her eyes widening to see better in the storm. How was he moving? Who was this guy? He should be dead. She trembled and tried to crab-walk away from him.

  He looked around, shook his head, and then spotted her.

  She stilled, her gaze trapped.

  His blue eyes lasered through the darkness of the storm, his long body one hard outline against the cliffs. Blood flowed down his face from a deep gash near his eye, and his left arm hung at an odd angle. The same arm he’d injured the other day. She’d forgotten his forearm had appeared broken when he’d run away after the car accident.

  “How are you even standing?” she asked, trying to make sense of the situation. He should be in unbearable pain or even shock. She glanced up the cliffside, which disappeared into the storm. The calculations didn’t make sense. Their weight, their rate of speed, the angle of impact, and the solidness of the sand. They should both be dead—he especially. There was a slight chance she could be alive, but she should have several broken bones and most likely internal injuries. Right now, she just had a headache.

  He spun around, obviously seeking a threat that wasn’t there. The only dangerous thing in sight was him. The man was a lunatic. One who was somehow standing while spectacularly injured.

  “What are you on?” she yelled through the twisting wind and sand. While she was unfamiliar with pharmacology, there had to be some drug that was keeping him on his feet. “You’re probably bleeding out internally.” She stood up, fighting the wind. Sand stuck to her lips, and she wiped it away.

  He reached for her hand. “We have to run.”

  From what? The disastrous storm? She thought about fighting him, but his grip remained strong, and remaining on the beach with the increasing storm was insane. The man had mental problems, and right now, she couldn’t be any more vulnerable. So following his lead to the trail and up to safety was the only smart thing to do.

  Then she’d run away from him.

  She kept her head down to protect her eyes from the slashing sand and followed him, oddly grateful he kept her hand. How he found his way in the darkness and through the storm, she had no idea. His training as a soldier must’ve been impressive.

  Her bare feet sank into wet sand, and she struggled to stay upright. Darkness and sand and water surrounded them, but adrenaline kept her moving, even though her heart rate accelerated until her lungs fought her.

  She shivered and tried to walk faster, needing to keep her body temperature as high as possible against the chill.

  A light cut through the darkness over the ocean.

  Ivar paused, and she tumbled against his broad back, fighting to stay on her feet. He turned and grasped both her arms. “Can you run?”

  Gulping, shoving wet hair off her face, she nodded. “Can you?”

  He turned and watched the light grow near. “They might be friendly.”

  She swallowed and stared up at his still bleeding face. Friendly? Was he having some sort of war flashback or something? “It’s okay, Ivar. Let’s get to the trail.” The storm was so thunderous, she had to lean up to yell close to his ear.

  Lightning ripped across the sky, deadly and beautiful. It lit up a helicopter rapidly moving their way.

  She gaped. “Who in the world is flying through this storm?”

  Ivar’s shoulders relaxed, and his body stilled. “They’re ours. Saw the side of the copter.”

  She shook her head, turning to see the craft pitch crazily in the air. “There’s nowhere to land,” she whispered, her words stolen completely by the wind. A gust of wind attacked her, throwing her into Ivar. She hit him midcenter, already trying to backtrack. Had she hurt him?

  He planted an arm around her shoulders and hauled her into his side, protecting her from the wind, rain, and sand.

  Oh, no. She could inadvertently damage his possible internal injuries more. She gently tried to extricate herself, but he held firm. She stood stiffly, trying not to touch him.

  The light shone down from the helicopter, and a rope became visible.

  Panic attacked her, and she shook her h
ead, trying to move away from him.

  “You’re okay.” With one hand, he grabbed her arm and swung her around to land on his back.

  She cried out, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, her knees clapping to his rib cage. The movement itself should’ve dropped him to his knees. Instead, he secured her wrists together at his collarbone with one hand and reached for the rope with the other.

  There was no way in the scientific universe the man would be able to climb the rope in spite of his injuries, especially with her perched on his back.

  With one hand and both legs, with her on his back trying not to scream, he started to climb.

  They were going to die.

  * * * *

  Every muscle ached, and Ivar’s broken arm bones clattered against each other and repeatedly sliced through his skin while he climbed the rope. The wind fought him with a powerful wail, while rain somehow slashed sideways to turn him around. On the beach, he had tried several times to teleport Promise to safety, but only a sputter echoed through him. Sputter and broken bones and fucking agony.

  He’d lost his ability to teleport before it had strengthened enough to be used again.

  Promise tucked her nose into the back of his neck, her mouth moving, probably in some sort of prayer. She held herself as stiff as concrete, no doubt theorizing how quickly they’d fall if he lost his grip on the rope.

  Rain attacked his eyes, and he blinked water away, gauging the distance to safety.

  The copter pitched and rolled, throwing him wide.

  Promise screamed and dug her nails into his clavicle, her foot scraping along what felt like a break in his femur. He growled low but kept climbing, having to reach with his one free hand and then use his knees for leverage. His right knee was going numb, and he sent emergency healing cells to it. He just had to get the woman inside the helicopter, and then he could pass out.