ClosertoFire

  Closer to Fire

  Alexis Reed

  Bane and Darek have simple instructions from their sovereign. Bring in Lily Sinclair. She’s an idana—a succubus—and a threat to their dying species. The two dracambri, powerful dragon-shifters, have Lily’s profile. They know she’s as hot as the inferno in her blood. They know the temptation they will face. Or so they think. Once Bane and Darek get their hands on Lily, she shatters their expectations. Gentle, kind and unaware of her bloodline, Lily is a rarity, like nothing they’ve seen—an angel with the touch of a siren. And unlike the human men Lily’s been evading all her life, Bane and Darek can keep up with her. They can bring her pleasure like she’s never known.

  A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Closer to Fire

  Alexis Reed

  Prologue

  Darek perched on the concrete ledge four stories up, surveying the dingy alley with narrowed eyes. The shifting winds that might have threatened another man’s balance only stirred the newspapers on the street far below him. Save for the homeless man sleeping by the Dumpster tucked against the dead-end wall on their right, it was empty. The dark-green door with the sign reading “Exit Only—Library Patrons Please Enter on North Side” showed no signs of movement. Nothing yet.

  “Show me the picture again,” he said in a low voice. Bane proffered the photo, which Darek snatched with a grunt. The paper was flimsy and crumpled from much handling but the image was clear. Darek stared, his restless, crouched body growing still at the sight of the woman in the surveillance photograph. The beast stirred beneath his skin, phantom wings making his back itch between his shoulder blades. Unlike his human half, the dragon did not ask questions. Its desires were instinctive, unapologetic and unequivocal—which was why he had to stay in control. It wanted her. The idana in the picture.

  Humans knew the idani as demons—succubi, specifically—and they were close to the mark. Idani were seduction, fantasy and carnal need given tangible form. They needed sex to survive and encounters with them were fatal to human men.

  But not to dracambri, the dragon growled.

  Not now. He forced it to settle, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself. C’mon, man. Get a grip. Since the beginning of the war, he and Bane had questioned more than a hundred of the doe-eyed demonesses, imprisoning some and executing others. It wasn’t fun work, but then neither was war. The charms that made their human victims lose all good judgment didn’t work as well on shape-shifters—let alone dragon shape-shifters. So why did her image alone tempt him? Frustrated and suspicious, Darek opened his eyes and straightened the paper against the breeze.

  The photo was taken from an angle. A seated woman, her face in partial profile, gazed at something or someone in the distance. Her long blonde hair was caught in the wind, stray tendrils teasing her ears and cheeks. The fair skin of her face was creased only by a small frown at her brow. Darek wondered for the hundredth time what she was thinking in that still, captured moment.

  The woman was sitting at an outside café table, her hands folded in her lap, her long legs crossed so that her flowered dress rode up just above her knee. Her toes were pointed, as though she’d been rocking her foot restlessly. Waiting. For what? Or whom? Darek wondered, though he knew he shouldn’t care. That she aroused him was no big surprise. She was idana. But when he looked at her picture, something inside him cracked, just a little. Her image called to him. The warmth that spread through his chest made him downright angry. Who—or what—was she?

  Her demure posture was at odds with the sensuous visions she inspired. And it wasn’t just himself, Darek knew. Across the patio in the picture, a short, bespectacled businessman in a three-piece suit and ridiculous plaid bow tie was staring at her over a newspaper. Unlike some of the males of his species, Darek wasn’t psychic. He didn’t have to be.

  I know just what you want, he thought, looking at the expression of naked longing on the man’s face. The idana’s greatest weapon wasn’t her flawless, inviting body—it was her target’s fantasies. The more imaginative the man, the more desperate his desire, the more certain his end. Bow tie didn’t just want sex. Like every man whose eye the woman in the cotton dress caught, he wanted sex with her. Hungry, desperate sex, hotter than his wettest teenage dreams. Against the wall. In the men’s room. Given half a chance, he would take her right there on the bistro-style table, white plates and espresso cups shattering on the ground by the corners of the checkered tablecloth, his appalled lunch companions scrambling out of the way. He’d do anything to get the idana on her back, work his cock into her and fuck her. Over and over, until… But Darek was pretty sure the man’s fantasy hadn’t gone beyond that. The corner of his mouth twitched at the irony. “Too much of a good thing” did indeed exist.

  His jaw tightened. Though he didn’t want to dwell on it, he knew the man’s likely fate. Like the rest of the idana’s victims, the guy had probably ended up a puzzle for the coroner. His death certificate would read “COD-cardiac event” or “exposure” or—this one was Darek’s favorite—“accidental voluntary asphyxiation”. Some might say “at least he died a happy man”. They would be wrong.

  He had seen the corpses the idani left behind. Agony, not ecstasy, was etched into the rigid features of their wasted faces. Some died seizing, their brains awash in hormones. Others starved to death, refusing to eat or sleep, unsatisfied no matter how many times they reached climax. What was worse, thanks to recent events, the number of human victims was on the rise. The idani had to feed, and pickings among nonhuman partners had been slim of late.

  Darek shifted his weight and glanced up at Bane, who was scanning the alley with impassive blue eyes. Though his partner’s bearing betrayed nothing, the scent of unease permeated the air, setting Darek’s teeth on edge. He’s as twitchy as I am, Darek thought darkly, which is saying something.

  Bane’s face betrayed none of this. “She’s not like the others,” he commented. Darek narrowed his gaze. Bane was standing beside him on the ledge, his arms crossed over his chest. His posture was the epitome of nonchalance, in stark contrast with Darek’s hovering crouch. Bane’s mouth twitched and he reached up to rub the stubble on his angular jaw. “Not like the others at all,” he murmured, scanning the alley again.

  “It’s just her coloring,” Darek said, striving to match Bane’s indifference. “So she was in the mood to be a light-skinned blonde that day.” Idani weren’t shape-shifters, but they could alter some aspects of their appearance.

  Bane cocked his head, considering. “I think that’s her true form.”

  The homeless man in the alley below coughed, gasped and coughed again, a thin, sickly sound. Darek saw his friend’s face soften and took an educated guess at the direction of his thoughts.

  “You can’t save them all, doc.”

  Bane exhaled and reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I know.” Spotting movement, he dropped into a crouch in one silent, fluid motion. “She comes.”

  Lily Sinclair paused in front of the library’s alley exit, struggling to free her keys from the jumble of items in her bag without upsetting the stack of books and papers she carried. Her fingers grazed the tip of a key—victory! She grabbed for it and missed. The batch of keys retreated deeper into her bag. Stifling a curse, Lily shifted the weight of the books in her arms, muttering, “My kingdom for digital content.”

  Her latest research project involved arcane and old manuscripts. Heavy stuff—literally. She was all right with that though, so long as she was out of the public eye.

  Initially she’d taken a job as a reference librarian, but she’d had to transfer to a research position for…well…reasons that she was still trying to sort out. In the words of her plainspoken bo
ss, a bun-wearing library matron if she’d ever seen one, “You can’t give the patrons what they want because this is a library, not a brothel.”

  Thank God, matron or no, she’d been willing to give Lily a second chance. Lily was desperate to do well. She’d led a sheltered life. Her mother, a stunning but reclusive woman, had made sure of that. The finest tutors, heavily vetted and carefully observed, home-schooled her through high school. On her mother’s recommendation, Lily went to a tiny liberal arts college in the North Carolina mountains and got her MLS degree at a reputable online school. This job was her first foray into “the real world” and she desperately wanted to make it work. Lily’s mother had left her an enormous estate when she’d passed away, but Lily wanted employment. She’d adored her mother, but she didn’t want to share her fate—secluded, as lonely as she was lovely.

  Sighing, Lily admitted defeat, set her armload of books down on the floor and knelt to retrieve her keys. Her back and feet hurt. She just wanted to get to her car, where she could stretch, sit down and best of all, take off her shoes.

  At last, she cornered the keys and pulled them out, along with her ID and a few stray pens, which scattered on the floor. Gathering them up along with her books, Lily stood and opened the door. She stepped into the alley, pulling the door closed behind her. Holding the stack of books awkwardly, she turned to lock the door.

  She sensed rather than heard the men behind her and stilled, her arm raised, the key held in one delicate hand. Dammit. She should have taken the front exit but she was tired of dodging men on the street. During the day when the street was crowded, she could fade into a crowd without attracting much notice. In the evening she was a walking target. Men inevitably stopped to ask if they could carry her bags, walk her to her car, buy her coffee or take her to dinner. Some asked for a lot more than that. She’d hoped to make it to her car without having to slap anyone.

  She turned slowly, assessing her situation, and her heart nearly stopped. The one day she decided to try the alley door and she had to run into He-Man and G.I. Joe. Everything about the two men standing behind her screamed alpha. The taller one had short, sandy-blond hair and angular features arranged in a dispassionate expression. His blue eyes were fixed on her in a way that made her feel as if she were a cornered rabbit watching the last, inexorable stages of a hawk’s dive. His icy gaze flickered, taking in her entire form in less than a second. She moistened her lips nervously. Confusion and fear warred with a feeling she couldn’t yet identify in her chest. Why do I care if I measure up? Her legs felt shaky and she wondered if she could run from the men. A wave of disorientation left her reeling.

  What is wrong with me?

  The second man was shorter by a couple of inches and slightly broader in the chest. His gaze was no less predatory than the taller man’s, but his energy was different—a coiled, palpably kinetic presence that made the five feet between them feel like no more than a breath. His dark hair matched his eyes. If the taller man was scary-cold, his partner was a forest fire waiting to happen.

  Lily shivered, hot and cold all over, feeling off balance. She wasn’t sure which was more disconcerting—the pair across from her or her reaction to them. That she wanted to run, she was certain. But whether she wanted to run away from them or straight into their grasp, she had… Absolutely. No. Idea.

  She drew herself up to her full five feet eight inches, gripping her books in an effort to still her trembling body. She’d thought she understood men. Or at least knew how she felt about them—which was not at all, really. Most men who pursued her did so with a witless single-mindedness, junkies after a fix. It was annoying but not unsettling. She’d never felt like this before—hot and cold and shivery and…aching inside, all at the same time. The men standing a few feet from her were hunters and she was very much their prey. She wanted to shake her head to clear it but she couldn’t take her eyes off them.

  Lily cleared her throat and jumped at how loud it sounded in the taut silence. “Gentlemen,” she said, nodding politely, feeling absurd. “Out for a walk?” She winced as her voice cracked at the end of the question.

  A slow smile spread across the dark-haired man’s features. He looked amused, which made her feel even smaller. “Oh come, demoness,” he said chidingly, “don’t be coy.”

  Demoness? Lily’s mouth dropped open. His voice, low and gravelly, touched her like satin. Speechless, shaking all over, she looked from one of them to the other.

  The taller man’s cold expression shifted. He frowned, seeming to consider her carefully, then looked at her with something that might have been sympathy. “Come with us. We’re not going to hurt you,” he said almost gently.

  The unexpected softness in his tone was a balm for her nerves and she had to stifle the urge to smile gratefully. Don’t be an idiot, Lily. Whatever he is—whatever they are—it isn’t nice. And they aren’t here for freakin’ tea and biscuits.

  The dark-haired man reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out something silvery and delicate-looking. At first Lily thought it was a necklace, but then she realized it was too long for that. He took a step toward her, unwinding the strange, shining substance.

  It looked like… Rope, she thought, it’s rope. How she knew that, she had no idea. Nor could she explain why the thin, fragile-looking stuff may as well have been industrial-grade chain in her eyes. Terror rose, a vile taste in her throat. A word resonated loudly in her head—run. In the second before every bone in her body obeyed that command, Lily saw the blond man put a restraining hand on his partner’s shoulder. They exchanged a meaningful glance, then the dark-haired man surged toward her.

  What followed was a blurred sequence of images and sensations, like some bizarre slideshow from hell. Flash. The wild, giddy surge of adrenaline thundering into her veins. Flash. Her books and papers scattering on the ground. Flash. The street, looking as far away and as desirable as the gates of heaven itself, framed by towering red brick walls on either side. Flash. Taking one, two, three long strides before arms like iron bands seized her from behind.

  Her stomach clenched as they fell, and she wondered with an odd detachment how much it would hurt. Dim surprise as her pursuer clutched her body against his, curling her protectively into his frame just before they hit the pavement. The cracking sound his arm made—was that bone?—on impact. Flash. The blond man’s face above them, his expression oddly regretful as he put a white cloth over her face. A horrible, cloying sweetness blending with the metallic taste of fear in her mouth. Gagging. Struggling. Smothering. I’m dying. Then…nothing.

  Chapter One

  Lily woke groggy, at first aware only of blurry double images and sounds. Her neck ached and cramped as she tried to raise her head. She was in a reclining chair. She struggled to sit up but her muscles wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Did you give her the anti-nausea meds I left?” a male voice asked from somewhere to her right.

  “Yes, Doctor Nightingale,” the sarcastic reply came from her left.

  A blond man floated into her field of vision. The man from the alley, she thought blurrily, wishing desperately for a single clear thought. He pressed lightly just above her right eye, raised the lid and shined a light into it. She winced, the absurd image of the light shining straight into the back of her skull coming to mind.

  I’ve been drugged. The memory of the anesthetic’s odor and taste, terrible in its singular clarity, surfaced. Suddenly drowning in nausea, Lily leaned forward, retching. Something thin and shiny—the rope the other one had held in his arms—stopped her. Jesus, she was tied up. Panic warred with the miserable sensation in her stomach.

  The little light winked off and the doctor cursed, vanishing from her sight. “How much did you give her?” he asked, his voice curt.

  “How much of what? You didn’t say anything about…” the second voice trailed off as the sounds of vials clinking popped like little china bubbles next to her ears. Then he reappeared, kneeling, a syringe and vial in one han
d and a tube—an IV, she realized—in the other.

  I don’t want that, she wanted to scream, but all that emerged was a hoarse croak. She tried to lift her hand, move it away, but the same silvery stuff that was tied around her chest bound her wrists and ankles to the chair.

  The doctor looked up at her, watching her face closely. His bright-blue eyes no longer seemed cold. She fixed on them, holding his calm gaze as though it were an anchor in a storm. “Lily, you’ve had ether,” he said slowly. “That’s why you feel so bloody awful. This will help.” She watched him, fear a cold pit in her stomach. “I’m sorry,” he added. “It’s the only anesthetic that works on your kind.”

  My kind? She mouthed the words, attempting to speak, but he shook his head. He held up a vial and filled a syringe with a clear liquid, tapping out bubbles. Lily forced herself to sit still. She wanted to run. Even if she weren’t bound, she wouldn’t make it out of the chair without collapsing into a retching heap. He inserted the needle into a port on her IV tube and pushed the plunger. Her hand burned as the drug went into her vein. She clenched and unclenched her stiff fingers.

  He put his hand over hers, his expression oddly apologetic, and rubbed her skin until the burning subsided.

  Who are you? she wanted to ask.

  The drug descended on her with a wave of somnolence that took with it the horrid knot in her stomach.

  “We can talk later,” he said. “How’s the nausea?”

  Her throat felt as if she’d swallowed shards of glass. “Better,” she managed.

  “Sleepy?” he asked. Though he was right in front of her, it sounded as if he spoke from a great distance. She nodded. He cupped the side of her face, his hand a cool comfort. He moved on and examined her fingers and toes, pressing on the nails. Lily watched, squinting as if it might clear her blurred vision. The IV tube led to a drip bag looped over a coat hanger in a large, wooden wardrobe next to her chair. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was in the bag. Her body felt as if it were made of lead.