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alphas had at least five inches on Bane and sixty pounds of muscle. Amaya had no problem envisioning Bane on top of Malphas’s bloody carcass. The image shouldn’t have been a turn on, yet it definitely was.

She whistled, capturing the attention of the room. Bane didn’t remove the blade from Malphas’s throat, though his red gaze landed on her.

Bane stepped away from Malphas and crossed the distance separating her and him, his pace measured, his body a study of coiled muscles prepared for violence. He didn’t stop until inches separated them. “Come with me right damn now.”

His voice vibrated with anger? No. Something deeper than anger. And his gaze, now more aqua than red, showed in his irises. His hand clamped onto her arm. She felt his rage in the power of his grip and didn’t protest when he led her to the stairs and pushed her in front of him. Maybe she should have stayed since she was supposed to chaperon Gideon and Malphas. Well, Gideon was an UnHallowed and Malphas was a Demoni Lord. They didn’t need her to hold their dicks while they took a piss. Not one had drawn blood—yet! And everyone’s sword was put away. Except for Zed, he continued to hold his, and Malphas continued to ignore him. Good enough for the few minutes she needed to talk to Bane and shower.

Bane marched her upstairs, the hand on the small of her back insistent she keep moving. His callused palm radiated heat to her nipples and groin.

Amaya shut down that train of thought and her automatic response. Pointless summed it best, not because they were in crisis mode, but because one phenomenal sexual encounter did not make a relationship. By forced circumstances, they were partners. Not through mutual respect, though she did respect him.

The unexpected thought lightened her heart. She respected Braile and Michael, and now Bane. Plus, she trusted him. Did he trust her? Especially after she brought Malphas and Gideon here?

“You know that’s not possible, right? Him not talking or looking at me.” She used air quotes and peered over her shoulder at Bane.

Red blazed from his eyes, two mini sun orbs threatening to bake anything they landed on. “It is possible and it will happen.”

“If you say so,” she mumbled.

She didn’t realize he’d maneuvered her into the master bedroom until the door closed with a solid thud behind him. Everything was as she left it, in disarray. The bed unmade; the towel she’d used, tossed near the footboard; dirty clothes kicked into a pile at the doorway to the bathroom.

Oh, well. Not like I hadn’t left in a hurry. She turned to get the interrogation over with and was yanked into a hard embrace. No thought of pulling away, no thought at all other than melting at the full body contact. Thank God he held her because her knees gave way and a sob threatened to escape.

Instead of deciphering her overwhelming reaction, she accepted the musky, leathery, night drenched scent of him in her nostrils, and one hand resting between her wings, the other wrapped around her waist. The sublime perfection of his body smothered hers.

She clung to him, relished the unspoken intimacy, until he eased her away enough to capture her face.

“Did he hurt you?” he said slowly through a clenched jaw.

Violence oozed from his pores, yet his eyes were deceptively clear, and gentle hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs stroking the skin under her eyes.

“I’m fine. I swear.” She didn’t hesitate to lay a hand on his chest, over the area where a heart should lay, the other she rested against his lean jaw, mimicking his soothing actions.

A brutal expression torqued his features. She glimpsed pure unadulterated fury, and his gentle fingers trembled.

Unafraid, she didn’t flinch from the emotion blazing from his eyes. “Bane, do you really think I’d let that skeevy Demoni asshat on or in any part of my body?”

His nostrils flared and emotions flickered in the depths of his eyes: worry, confusion, rage filtered through…and something else she didn’t know how to name. Her hand slid to his nape. His eyes dilated and went red in a good way. He gathered her close, bringing her in tight to his body so that all of her touched all of him once more.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said into her hair.

She held him tighter, fighting what was in her heart. “And give up my house, when I’m still decorating? Not a chance.”

Bane threaded his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp with an easy touch. He angled her head and met her gaze. He seemed calmer. “Fixing the hole in the dining room wall needs to be added to that list.” A fraction of a smile flitted across his lips, though his eyes never lost their concern. “How did you survive? Tell me everything. I need to know.”

Quickly, she spilled the details from the moment she woke in the cell with Gideon to the moment she stepped into her living room, including her terms. “He has to remove the Darklings from every human. The UnHallowed keep the Cruor. We each go to our corner of the world and never cross each other’s path again.”

“You trust Malphas to keep that bargain?” he sneered when she finished, his hands paused in her hair.

“Fuck no. But the enemy of my enemy and all that bull. Except this time, it’s true.”

“The Spaun can’t open the Cruor without the blood of an archangel giving it freely.”

“True. We know that. Does he? Either way, do we let him or a Spaun set a trap for an archangel? Torture one or many? They are in short supply.”

A grimace twisted his lips, a lock of his black hair fell onto his forehead. Her heart gave an annoying little flutter. “I don’t care about some unknown archangel getting shanked.”

“Liar.” She snorted. “You care.”

“I care about you.” His voice was thick with rage and affection. “I’ll be damned if Malphas takes you.”

No one was taking Amaya anywhere she didn’t want to go. She stroked his forearm and came away with a layer of dirt and skin. “Umm. You need a bath.”

His nostrils flared and his voice deepened to a husky whisper, “So do you.”

“Are you okay?” The entire conversation had been about her when she had been just as worried about him.

“I am now.” He grasped her hair, used it to pull her head back, and lowered his mouth to hers. A wave of lust hit her—totally expected—at the first brush of his mouth, the first lick of his tongue, his teeth nipping her lower lip. The tenderness following lust’s turbulent wake surprised her. Their emotions mixed as their tongues tangled and their groans mingled. Her fingers stole into his hair to hold him to her, as his hands traveled down her body to grip her hips, lift her up on her tip-toes, and fit his erection between her legs.

“I would not be okay without you,” he growled into her mouth when he broke the kiss.

Wait! What? There was more to his statement than the seven spoken words, a deeper meaning that hadn’t escaped notice. Amaya swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “I-I wouldn’t be okay without you either.”

Lost in his icy eyes, her hands settled on his pecs, then circled his neck as he dipped down and slanted his lips over hers. A soft groan escaped at the touch as she savored the feel of his mouth, the taste of his tongue against hers. He kissed her slowly, gently, as if afraid she’d bolt. Ending this exquisite moment was the last thing on her mind. He plied her mouth with a tenderness that left her soul aching, and her core wet and hollow. So hollow, that all of her burned for him.

His hands skimmed down her body to her ass and rocked her against his hardness. Wanton, she hooked her leg around his hips and rubbed herself along his bulging crotch. He fisted her hair and yanked her head back. He plundered her mouth with ruthless strokes. It wasn’t enough. She needed more. So much more.

Amaya slid her fingers over his pecs, down his stacked abs, and shoved her hand into the front of his pants. She adored his shocked gasp and his commando sense of style. No underwear to get tangled in meant easier access to the smooth, hard flesh in her palm. With a firm grip, she glided her hand along his shaft as much as the tight confines of his leather pants allowed.

Bane broke away panting, his hand tightening in her hair, trying to control her. “I’m trying to be sweet, gentle,” he said in a rough purr.

Amaya tightened her hand around his rigid cock. “You’ve known me how long? When have I ever been sweet? Or gentle?” She released his cock to rip the front of his pants open, then stroked his smooth length again—once, twice—as she hauled in for a raw open-mouthed kiss, then, pushed him away.

She stripped off her shirt, unzipped her pants, and punted them at him. They smacked his thighs, not that he noticed. His entire focus was on her bare breasts, the heat in his eyes shifting from anger to lust. His gaze strolled down her body, touching her nipples, her stomach, and halted at her bikini. He took a step forward.

“You need a shower as badly as I do. You can use the bathroom in the hallway.” She teased and strolled to the bathroom. Gently, she closed the bathroom door behind her. It banged open, barely missing her, and she was in his arms, his hands palming her ass, his lips seducing her. Her mouth opened for his invasion. His tongue swept inside, going deep, retreating, and going deep again. Desire ignited her blood, drowning her in the most erotic sensations.

“We’ll kill two birds with one stone,” he growled between thrusts of his tongue into her mouth. She heard a rip, felt a tug, and her panties fluttered away.

Amaya couldn’t disagree, not when her libido flipped from idling to Indy 500 mode. She gripped the neck of his Henley and treated it the same way he treated her panties, ripped it down the middle from neck to belly. Bane carried her into the glass shower. He slapped his palm over the sensor and water cascaded from the strategically placed showerheads. Slowly, he lowered her to her feet, letting her body drag along his so all of her touched all of him, especially his rock hard cock.

She didn’t realize she desperately needed him until the burning desire was there, shredding her restraint, making her will Play-Doh instead of the concrete foundation she’d built her world upon.

“Get rid of the pants.”

His pants received the same treatment as his shirt and her panties. She didn’t have to ask about the boots because he kicked them off and pitched everything out of the stall. Water pounded his flesh and gathered into rivulets to course over his pecs, and between the deep ridges of his abdominal muscles.

And his erection. That proud jutting member demanded her attention.

Amaya picked up her soap, a floral bar of designer soap she loved. She started with his chest, lathering both pecs, lingering over his nipples. With each caress, his chest rose and fell, even though he didn’t need to breathe. She didn’t meet his eyes, to do so would give him control, and she wasn’t ready to concede yet.

Instead, she glided the soap over his abs and followed with her fingertips, scraping the ridges with a feathery touch. His muscles bunched with each trace. He cupped her cheeks. She didn’t fight him when he brought her lips to his. Their tongues dueled as she reached low and with one hand, she cupped him, with the other, she stroked his shaft. A sharp moan dipped into a hiss issued from his clenched teeth.

It wasn’t enough. Amaya wanted him mindless, lost to the lust, yet aware of the woman who’d brought him to that point. She yanked her mouth from his, but kept a grip on his cock as she pushed him into the wall between the jetting water.

“What are y—” His words died on a strangled shout when she dropped to her knees.

His cock was beautiful. Long and thick, and fucking perfect. Her core throbbed. First, she soaped him, gently sliding the suds along his shaft. After she let the water wash him, she circled her tongue around his tumescent head.

The taste of him on her tongue went to her brain. Blow jobs had never been her favorite activity. With Bane, she turned his cock into a lollypop, licking up one side and down the other. Languid strokes of her tongue had his hips rocking, especially when she mixed her licks with deep sucks. He grunted, moaned, his fists pounded the wall, then he threaded his fingers through her hair to guide her to take him slower. Instead, she took him to the back of her throat.

Their gazes locked as she flicked her tongue over the sensitive ridge at the base of his shaft. Slack-jawed, his voice was a hoarse growl. “Amaya.”

She eased back and let him glide against her tongue. Just before he slipped free, she caught the head between her teeth.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he threatened with a hiss.

She chuckled and gripped him firmly. “Do you need a target?” She laid the tip on her tongue and nailed him with a sultry stare.

His expression was agonized, his hips jerked forward and he spurted into her mouth. She drank him down, and loved every drop.

He hauled her up and her back met the wall, but then he traded places. Her wings shielded them from the spray, creating a special cocoon. He palmed her ass again and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her wet core kissed his still hard shaft trapped between their bodies. Bane shifted and buried himself deep within her on a single, powerful thrust.

Bliss seared every nerve. Three hard pumps, and fireworks exploded in her groin. She broke into pleasure drenched pieces as her orgasm knocked her brain into the back of her skull. A primal scream ripped from her and she sank her teeth into his pec just short of breaking the skin.

“Yes,” he murmured, and bit down on the tendon along the side of her throat as he plunged inside of her. Bane stiffened. His hips stilled and shudders traveled through him. His fingers dug into her ass, marking her. His cock jerked deep in her walls. He released her neck to groan, long and loud. “Amaya.”

They held each other, connected not only by body parts, but by something deeper. She felt it, the threads weaving together, binding her to him. His lips pressed to her temple. She tipped her head back because she wanted his kiss, needed another few seconds of their connection. Regret speared her when he slipped free of her body and she regained her footing.

He kissed her slowly, sweetly. “Now, you can take your shower. And hurry.” He swatted her ass and darted out of the stall.

Too satisfied to snap that she would’ve been done if he hadn’t distracted her, she grabbed the soap off the tile and got to it.

She exited the bathroom to find a Post-it stuck to her cedar chest at the end of her bed.

Come armed for war.

“I can do that.” She crumpled the yellow square and dressed in jeans and a deep blue cut out tank shirt to accommodate her wings. The cedar chest kept her stash of throwing stars, knives, and holy water bombs; with multiple designs, the latter weren’t practical to lug around.

Her favorite leather jacket underwent surgery. It was the first expensive thing she’d ever bought, yet she didn’t hesitate to cut the back off. Trapped wings weren’t comfortable. Next, she strapped her holsters to her arms and attached her favorite knives, two on each. Her throwing stars went into the specially lined pockets in her jacket, which also had two granola bars. Her stomach howled. She couldn’t unwrap both fast enough. As she stuffed her face, she scrutinized her handy work.

A Project Runway contestant she’d never be, however her butchery had a purpose. A purpose that wouldn’t be necessary if she could just figure out how to make her wings vanish. How did those winged asshats make their wings appear and disappear, at will, without destroying their clothing?

And where was the sword Michael gave her? The damn thing had its own time schedule. Uggh!

What was the point of having all this power if she couldn’t control anything? Now wasn’t the time for self-analysis. She shoved all of her issues to the back burner and gave herself a pat on the back. The entire process from shower to ready to exit the bedroom took fifteen minutes. Not too bad.

Three hard booms rattled the bedroom door, startling her. “Are you decent?” Riél shouted through the door.

“Damn it, Riél!” She yanked open the door. The former Archangel of Purity held up a hand, halting her building tirade.

“Normally, I wouldn’t rush a woman at her toiletries, I know how arduous the process can be, but this shit you have got to see!”

Please let everyone be alive.

Amaya rushed downstairs to the empty ground floor. Riél swept past her and led the way to the basement. She pulled up short at the sight of Malphas behind a full-sized bar curving along the left wall, pouring drinks for Rimmon and Ioath—when did they add that?—and Gideon seated between Zed and Daghony on the sectional, playing Assassin’s Creed on the one hundred and ten-inch flat screen.

Riél glanced at Bane on the far side of the room and something unspoken passed between them. Then, they gave their attention to the rest of the UnHallowed. One by one, including Gideon, the UnHallowed made eye contact with Bane and the same unspoken something was said. A plan she wasn’t a part of.

Zed had a controller in his hand and Assassin’s Creed played on the flat screen. He paused and tipped his glass to Amaya; but his gaze was on Bane. Again, that something passed between them and it fucking pissed her off.

Until she saw Malphas, sipping an amber liquor from a tumbler. Their eyes connected over the rim, the hint of a smile on his face. Elbows on the bar, he seemed completely at ease, except for his cold, dead eyes. He wasn’t fooled, not one tiny bit.

Malphas arched an eyebrow, in invitation? For what, she hesitated to guess. Amaya looked away. “What happened?” she said to no one in particular.

“Differences will be shelved until the Cruor is found,” Bane said.

“So, who gets to tell Kush about the new arrangement?” Riél rubbed his hands together in glee, more than anxious for the coming mayhem.

“Fuck Kush.” Ioath’s head kicked back as he laughed. “Who tells Sam?”