in a deep breath. “I will not destroy this Darklighter. If you ask this of me, the jalapeño juice will feel like ice water compared to what I will do to your insides.”
The director dropped his gaze to the folder. “Now that they’re twenty-one, all three have come into their full powers. If Mara kills her captor, her demon side will take over and she will turn evil. The Society has decided her fate. Your assignment is to mate her. Absorb her dark powers and diffuse them so she will not turn fully demon.”
Silence descended as the gremlin flicked off the television. “Did he say ‘mate’ or ‘date?’” Petra asked.
Lucien drew in a deep breath. Glasses on the coffee table rattled as he lost his composure. “Petra, go into the other room,” he told her.
When the gremlin left, Lucien spoke in a voice that could cut steel. “You wish me to seduce Mara and steal her demon powers.”
“Yes. It’s the only way we can ensure she’ll remain harmless.”
“I will not force her against her will.” Tension tightened his jaw to the point of pain.
“You’re a seducer, Lucien. Legions of women have crawled willingly into your bed. This will be no different. You and two other Ancients are the only ones capable of saving her. You’re the most powerful.”
“I have followed every assignment given to me since being inducted into the Society. But I will not do this.” Lucien said in a commanding voice.
“If you refuse, the Society will reactivate the bounty on Petra’s head. She won’t last a year.”
With a loud crack, the wineglasses shattered. His gaze went glacial. “I’ll rip apart anyone daring to hurt Petra.”
“You can try. But can you protect Petra against hundreds of bounty hunters?”
His cold heart pounded harder. “And if Mara kills before I mate her? She must die?”
Anderson nodded. “But there is capacity in her for good. We want to save her, not destroy her.”
They would destroy her if necessary. The Society’s edict was the destruction of evil.
“You have ten days. Our spies have indicated Mara and Jones are in the same city. We’ve sent two werewolf bounty hunters to watch her. If she even makes a move against Jones, they’re free to draw her blood.”
He hissed, showing his fangs. “Not if I draw theirs first.”
Blanching, the director gathered his briefcase. “You know the rules. They have diplomatic immunity from your fangs, Lucien. I’ll see myself out.”
As he heard the sound of the front door slamming, Lucien stared at the photo. His long fingers stroked over the luminous skin, the sweet curve of her mouth. “A Darklighter.”
With the silence of a vampire, Petra walked into the room. Her pointed ears flexed. “There hasn’t been one of those in years.”
“I know.” Lucien’s heart constricted. He counted backwards in Latin to regain his lost composure. “Go upstairs and pack our things. I’ll need your tracking ability.”
A small white lie. He wouldn’t leave Petra alone. Lucien’s stomach knotted at the thought of her torn to pieces by werewolf bounty hunters.
“I’m not going near a Darklighter. Have you seen one when they turn demonic? I hear they get all gray and nasty…”
“I have.”
Fresh pain lanced him like a hot knife. He could not bring himself to destroy another Darklighter. Yet he couldn’t risk Petra’s life, either.
Perhaps this Darklighter could be saved. Lucien glanced again at the photo, remembering the vision. Desire pumped hot and sweet through his veins as he envisioned her naked body pliant and soft beneath his. Fangs exploded in his mouth as he imagined taking her blood as he bound them together in the flesh.
“Why not just let her kill and have the Society destroy her?”
Practical Petra. Lucien glanced at the photo. With her sweet, heart-shaped face, thin cheeks and wide blue eyes, Mara looked so frighteningly vulnerable, unaware of the evil lurking inside her.
Just like another had 42 years ago.
“Because she can be turned,” he finally said, fighting the emotions cresting over him. “She deserves more than my last Darklighter assignment.”
“What’s that?”
“A chance.”
Chapter 3
A cool breeze whispered through the palm trees lining Miami’s Ocean Drive. South Beach in late October pulled crowds of people to outdoor cafés, cheerful bars and the warm sands.
Among them was the man who’d tried to kill her five days ago, Mara thought as she straddled a low wall dividing the sidewalk from the white sandy beach In her peach scoop-neck shirt and jeans, she looked like everyone else. Except she had an arsenal; two daggers sheathed at her ankles and a switchblade in her back pocket. The real weaponry was her demonic side.
Mara felt the darkness inside her growing stronger. She’d dropped out of school, quit her part-time job and gone on the hunt for the head of one Dennis Jones.
Catching the scent of venom, she turned. Cold joy filled her. Dennis Jones. The same black wool suit, white shirt and gray hair sticking up in little spikes. Her nails began to lengthen and Mara’s upper lip lifted as she felt her bottom teeth sharpen to tiny points. Jones ducked into a sidewalk café.
As she stood to follow, she felt a pair of hands curl around her shoulders, forcing her down. She was strong, but this person’s strength was astonishing. Mara twisted, struggling to free herself.
“Sit,” a deep velvet voice commanded.
Shock filled her. It was the same sensual voice she’d heard in her dream.
Mara sat.
“Stay.”
The husky timbre held a compelling note. Screw that. No one was telling her what to do again.
“If you tell me to roll over, buddy, I’ll bite.”
“My bite is much worse.”
She felt his warm hands start kneading her tensed shoulders. His touch chased away the dark light, forcing the demon back. Her heart began thumping a steady, reassuring beat instead of pounding like a jackhammer. More confusion filled her. What kind of magic was this?
The grip eased. She turned.
He was tall, leanly muscled and wore a blue and white striped shirt with navy pleated trousers. The crease of his pants fell elegantly to polished leather shoes. The stylish clothing contrasted to the inky black curls spilling down to his broad shoulders. But it was his face that stunned her. The full lips, hollowed cheeks and straight nose boasted an aristocratic heritage. Eyes the color of midnight pierced hers.
