Deliver Us From Evil Part 9

What would it be like? To be truly free? Not grieve, not regret, not constantly question her own competence, her job. Herself.

She'd always been alone, but she'd pretended. First that her mother wanted her, then that her father loved her. She was a lie. No one would miss her if she disappeared. No family, few friends, and those she had-who? She couldn't remember even one close friend. There had to be someone . . .

"Skye."

She shook her head. Her imagination talking to her.

"Skye, stop."

Stop what? she tried to say, but her words sounded funny. Who was calling her, anyway?

"Skye!" The voice was commanding. Gruff.

Step forward. Peace is only a foot away. Do it, Skye.

Her father's voice, calm, quiet. You let me die. You didn't even look for me.

She stared at the s.p.a.ce above the sea. He was there, right in front of her. So real she could touch him. Have him hold her like when she was little. Tell her stories, his wonderful stories about princesses who flew like the birds. Love her again.

"Daddy, I'm sorry."

He held out his hand.

She held out her hand.

"Skye, come home."

"I miss you, Daddy."

She stepped forward. The ground disappeared. She was falling, falling-

Through human eyes, Ianax watched Sheriff Skye McPherson walk along the edge of the cliff, much too close to the edge. A smile across the face of the body he'd fought to possess.

Die, weak one. Die.

He sent a bolt of energy across the s.p.a.ce and created the image of her father.

She reached out for him.

Pain exploded in his head as the soul trapped inside chanted a prayer. His eyes glowed, turned inward, and he saw the human soul inside the physical body he possessed. Ianax sent a sharp snap of energy to silence the plea, and the soul went quiet.

The human had fought him fiercely, but after he had rid the body of all protective s.h.i.+elds, he'd been able to gain a foothold. Just enough to subdue the human conscience and take over. But an unwilling possession was a constant battle, and energy surges to quiet the consciousness drained him. The momentary high of possession would quickly diminish. He needed to find another body, one that wasn't as emotionally strong, but first he had things to do.

"I need that journal. Where would she keep it?"

He searched the memories of the human trapped inside and looked in two places before he found it. He picked up the journal and his human hands burned.

"Argh!"

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d had protected the journal from those acting on Ianax's command. The mild irritation at being slowed down was replaced by a spine-chilling shriek of excitement.

You can't stop me!

Using ancient chants from his master, he rid the journal of all protective elements. He picked it up, flipped through the pages, wanting to see what they knew of how to defeat him.

The pages were blank. The ink itself had been blessed, and with his spell he'd removed it.

In a rage befitting Satan himself, the book flew across the room, pages shredding in midair.

"I'll have your soul in my teeth yet, Raphael Cooper!"

He left the cottage, feeling around for Skye McPherson's soul. He would claim her, now.

But he couldn't find her.

Then he saw him, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd interrupted his gathering of souls at the mission.

He wanted nothing more than Anthony Zaccardi's soul in his black gut. But Satan had other plans for him.

Impatience was only one of Ianax's vices.

CHAPTER NINE.

SHE BEGAN TO TUMBLE OFF the cliff when someone grabbed her hand.

"Skye!"

She screamed, kicked, scrambling, trying to climb up the sheer rocky slope. What had happened? Where was she?

Had she just walked off the cliff? No. Yes. Was she losing her mind?

"Help!" she shouted.

"I'm going to pull you up."

The wind picked up. The salty spray from the violent waves cras.h.i.+ng below dampened her near-naked body. Her free hand, her feet, tried to grab for purchase, but rocks continued to fall beneath her kicking legs.

"Give me your other hand!"

It was Anthony. He clutched her wrist with one hand. His other hand was reaching for hers. He was lying flat on the ground to keep from falling over the edge with her.

She swung wildly, kept reaching for him. The wind blew at her, pus.h.i.+ng her from his seeking hand.

"No!" she cried.

"Skye, focus!"

Focus. What did he think she was doing?

On the third try his free hand caught hers.

"I'm going to pull you up."

Anthony had looked strong earlier, but he proved it as he pulled her back up the cliff. To safety. She scrambled up, falling into his arms, shaking uncontrollably.

"What happened?" she cried, burying her face in his chest.

"What did you see?" Anthony asked.

"My father . . ." No. Her father wouldn't have asked her to walk off a cliff, to kill herself. She shook her head, trying to collect her thoughts, but everything was jumbled. "I don't know. Why am I out here? Why are you here?"

"Shhh," he said, stroking her tangled hair. "Shhhh." He held her tight against his chest, his warm body absorbing the cold that penetrated her bones.

She looked up at him; he stared at her. The depth of his dark eyes caught her breath. His black hair fell loose on his shoulders, the brisk wind blowing it to and fro. Anthony Zaccardi had saved her life.

Twice. First the fire, now the cliff.

Suddenly, their lips touched. She didn't know if she kissed him first, or he her, but neither of them were cautious or tentative. He kissed like an experienced man, a man who had a right to kiss her, to touch her, to hold her. It was the taste of last night, when they'd first kissed, plus so much more.

She opened her mouth, her tongue seeking his, the intimacy of the embrace igniting her nerves.

Anthony's arms wrapped tight around her, one hand holding her head to his, the other roaming up the back of her s.h.i.+rt, so hot, so rough, against her bare skin. She groaned into his mouth and he tilted his head in the other direction, the kiss diving deeper, holding her lips captive. Every cell in her body yearned for Anthony, a man she barely knew. She'd l.u.s.ted before, but not like this need that had her wanting to make love right now.

Skye had always been in complete control of her s.e.x life. But here, on the edge of the cliff, with this man, she lost control.

She s.h.i.+vered at the thought, and Anthony pulled her even closer, his hot mouth moving to her ear. "You're cold."

Cold? In his arms? Never.

She wasn't thinking, not like a rational woman, not like a cop. The realization that she'd almost died-had walked off the cliff because she'd thought she'd seen her father-hit her. She didn't want to die, and certainly didn't want to kill herself. The overwhelming sensation of being alive, whole, and safe wrapped her in such a tight coc.o.o.n that coldness was foreign to her. In Anthony's arms she was at peace for the first time in forever. She needed to feel safe. And loved. Just a little longer.

The creeping eastern sun highlighted every feature, every crevice, every shadow of Anthony and the coast, which glowed like sea foam in the rare light that came only at the edge of dawn.

She kissed him hard, pus.h.i.+ng him back onto the ground. Touching his hard, lean body wherever she could reach. She fumbled with the b.u.t.tons on his white s.h.i.+rt, roughly pus.h.i.+ng it aside, ran her hands over Anthony's warm muscled chest. How could a man generate so much internal heat that her fingers burned at the touch? Her mouth found his nipple, hard and broad under her tongue. She moaned, the antic.i.p.ation of s.e.x making her writhe on top of him.

"Skye," he murmured as if in prayer. "My Skye."

My Skye.

She yearned to be somebody's, to belong to a person as she wanted them to belong to her. Partners. Friends. Lovers.

His hands went up under her s.h.i.+rt and touched her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which had pebbled in the cold. He rubbed her nipples back and forth in each hand, warming her, heating her to the brink of combustion. Her mouth found his again, exotic and forbidden. Anthony satisfied a thirst she hadn't known she'd had. Reaching down to his pants, she fumbled with the zipper, feeling his hard, heavy weight. Wanting her as she wanted him.

"Skye," he whispered in her ear, reaching for her hand. "Skye, do you want-"

"Shhh," she said, interrupting his question. She felt his desire for her. Right there, in her hand. She squeezed.

He groaned, a deep guttural sound that vibrated within her.

"Make love to me, Anthony. Right now. I need you to love me. I need you inside of me. Make me feel alive."

Anthony swallowed, every cell in his body fully aware of Skye. He wanted her. But he didn't take women in distress. Though she was leading him, he knew something was wrong. This wasn't Skye, not fully. She'd gone from one extreme to another. His mind told him not to listen to her words, that she would regret this, but his heart-his soul-demanded that he be with her. In her. Now.

"Skye, do you-"

She clasped her lips over his mouth, hard, her tongue exploring. Her hand rubbed his c.o.c.k, pulling it toward her. He groaned again, tasting her. Wanting her.

He had the strength to push her away, to demand that she think about what she wanted them to do. To insist she consider the consequences.

But he didn't use it. His mind was clouded with l.u.s.t and desire and something indefinable. This woman had touched his heart earlier. At the mission in the fire. At his hotel with her quiet regrets. Her strength. Her heart. Her boundless compa.s.sion.

"Anthony," she whispered as her tongue found his ear.

It took all his self-control not to roll over and take charge of the lovemaking. But he wouldn't place her delicate body against the rough ground.

His hands found her beautiful a.s.s and he squeezed, wondering only fleetingly when her panties had disappeared. Skye was all woman, lean and muscular, but soft and rounded where a woman should be. Her firm hips filled his hands as he lifted her up.

She clasped his c.o.c.k and touched it to her moist center.

"Anthony," she gasped as she slid onto him without hesitation.

He bit back a cry of pleasure as he filled Skye. Opening his eyes, he stared at her face in the rising sun. Her blond hair was loose and wild, the breeze lifting it from her body. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, her skin flushed, a sheen of sweat making her s.h.i.+ne in the early light. She was a G.o.ddess, exquisite and beautiful, and his. He knew then, at their union, that she was as much his as his own mind and soul. How he knew, what it meant, he couldn't be sure, but there was no mistaking this knowledge.

"Skye," he commanded. "Look at me."

Her eyes fluttered open. Unfocused. Then they caught his, full of the same deep desire and longing that he had. He pulled her head down to his, kissed her softly as he wrapped his arms around her body.

Her pelvis rocked back and forth and she gasped into his mouth. He bit back his own release, his primitive need, in order to give her everything she wanted and more.

Her muscles tightened around his and he reached down, holding her tight against him. One of his hands found her c.l.i.t and pressed firmly on the nub. She cried out in his mouth, then arched her back up as she o.r.g.a.s.med.

Then, he gave up his own pleasure.