Rush of Pleasure. Rhyannon ByrdЧитать онлайн книгу.
should have known it was going to be like this. That he’d lose his friggin’ mind the instant he set eyes on her again. If he’d had any brains at all, he’d have holed himself up in some cheap hotel room with an even cheaper woman for a few days and screwed his brains out before setting foot in Sacred. Then he wouldn’t have had any left to fry. As it was, all he could hear was the slow sizzle of his thought processes as they smoldered and burned, surprised he didn’t have smoke coming out his ears.
Scrubbing a hand down his face while the other had a death grip on the steering wheel, he made a desperate attempt at conversation. “You gonna tell me why your aunt was wearing that rabbit on her head?”
Maybe she needed the distraction as much as he did, because instead of telling him to shut up, she gave a throaty laugh, the rich sound doing something funny to his insides. “You should have seen the look on your face when she opened the door wearing Rufus.”
“Rufus?”
“He was her pet, until he keeled over from old age. That was a few years ago.”
“Okay.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to wrap his mind around what she’d said. “So then Jessie wears him out of affection? To keep him … close to her?”
She rolled her head over the back of the seat to look at him, the side part in her hair giving her an Old Hollywood look, with those glossy curls falling over the side of her face. It was sexy as hell, making a man want to stroke those soft locks back, so that he could touch his mouth to the smooth curve of her cheek. The tender corner of her eye. The feminine arch of her brow. On any other woman, he’d have thought it was a practiced pose. Something meant to entice and allure. But there was nothing superficial or calculating about Willow. She was just naturally sexy, without even trying. And it was hell on his system.
“She doesn’t wear Rufus to keep him close,” she murmured with a crooked smile. “She uses him to project her loony persona.”
“Why does she want people to think she’s crazy?”
She rolled her head back toward the window, staring out into the starless night. “A woman can have all kinds of reasons for projecting a persona,” she murmured. “In Jessie’s case, I think she likes the protection her reputation affords her. With fear comes a certain amount of respect. But I also think it helps to keep away those who might have a romantic interest in her.” Another husky laugh rolled off her lips, the throaty sound making his muscles twitch. “And Rufus certainly does a good job of that.”
So he’d been right, after all. Maybe ol’ Jessie wasn’t nearly as batty as she appeared to be.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Noah reached up and touched the charm she’d given him, wondering if there was a chance in hell it would actually work. After all, if anyone could pull off that kind of spell, it would be Jessie. The woman had an understanding of the occult that was unlike anything he’d ever seen. And then there were her Chastain powers, which were truly impressive.
The Chastain were at the high end of the power spectrum for witches—but unlike most of the other castes, they could mold their abilities into one of three specific specialties. There were the spell-makers, the warriors and the healers. Jessie, obviously, had devoted her life to the first, Willow to the second and Sienna to the third. As far as he knew, a Chastain’s ability to gain power was essentially limitless, depending on their lineage and how strongly they chose to train. In Willow’s case, considering her leanly muscled physique and the way she’d handled that blade that she carried, it was clear that she’d trained hard. But she hadn’t crossed over into the “dark side” of the occult, the way her sister had, which meant she’d be at a disadvantage if the two ever faced off together.
Noah hoped it never came to that, but then, he’d learned the hard way that just hoping for something wasn’t always enough.
“So now that you’ve blackmailed me into this working arrangement,” she said, “I have some questions for you.” She stretched as she spoke, rolling her shoulders back until her breasts strained against the confines of her T-shirt. From the corner of his eye, Noah stared at the delicate shape of her nipples, wondering just how much of a bastard he must have been in a past life to deserve this kind of torture.
Apparently a really, really big one.
Kneading the muscles at the back of her neck, she asked, “What are you guys doing about them?”
He blinked, trying to remember what they were talking about—but his mind had been blanked by lust. “Them?”
“The Death-Walkers.”
“Uh, not much,” he rumbled, quickly forcing his attention back on the road, where it wasn’t likely to get him into trouble. “At the moment, they’re pretty much handing our asses to us. We’re in deep pick-up-the-pieces mode, rather than prevention. We have no idea where they’re going to strike next, or when. Or even how many of them escaped when we fried the Casus in Meridian.”
“Have there been any problems with the media?”
“A few.” It was costing the Consortium a fortune to “buy” the silence they needed from witnesses in order to ensure the secrecy of the clans. Not to mention some questionable intimidation tactics that made him and the guys in his unit uncomfortable as hell. They understood the necessity, but that didn’t mean they had to be happy about it.
“And what about the Collective?” she asked. He wasn’t surprised Willow knew about the Collective Army. She was a part of the clans, after all, which meant she knew to be on guard from the fanatical organization of human mercenaries who devoted themselves to purging the world of all nonhuman species.
“The Collective are pretty busy at the moment trying to save face.”
“That’s hardly surprising,” she drawled. “They screwed up, big-time.”
They had definitely done that. In an ironic twist, the Collective had partnered up with the Casus after being offered a deal they had hoped would lead to the death of the clans. Instead, their greed had left the Army looking like idiots.
“The Collective generals might covet blood, instead of money or power, but it all ends the same,” he said. “In misery and death.”
He could feel the press of her stare as she looked at him. “And what do you covet, Noah?”
Apparently you, he almost muttered. But he managed to choke down that colossal blunder.
“I mean, what is it you’re trying to do?” she asked, without waiting for his answer. “Buy yourself some good luck? You should be trying to find Calder. Not worrying about how to stop the Death-Walkers.”
“I honestly don’t know.” He worked his jaw, uncomfortable with the topic. Hell, he didn’t waste time psychoanalyzing his actions. He just went with his gut and tried to keep his head on straight, which meant keeping busy. He didn’t like sitting around and thinking everything to death. Shit like that drove him mad.
“What about you?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t smoked his last cigarette. He’d never been much of a nicotine addict, but the past few months had been a bitch. And it wasn’t like there weren’t worse vices he could be indulging in.
“What about me?”
Noah slid her a speaking glance, then returned his attention to the road. “From the bits and pieces I’ve heard over the years, you’ve earned quite a reputation as a badass investigator. One who isn’t afraid to mete out some rough punishments every now and then. Kind of like a judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one.”
“Well, it does pay to be a little bit bad,” she said with a smile in her voice. “And I never hurt anyone who’s innocent.”
“And what about those who are guilty?”
“That,” she murmured with almost feral satisfaction, “is a different matter altogether.”
“Is that