Eternal Rider by Larissa Ione Read Free Book Online Page B

blood and hellhound, and though itappeared that the Aegi had gone, he didn’t take chances. Silently, he laid her on the couch and performed a sweep of the rooms. All clear. A disaster, but clear. The Guardians had damaged the back door, probably when they’d broken in, and before they gathered their dead and left, they’d gone through some of her drawers and closets. Blood was splashed all over the room he’d found Cara in, some sort of veterinary office. She’d be confused as all hell tomorrow when she woke up.
    Well… hell, he could at least give her a reasonable explanation for her memory loss. He scrounged around the kitchen until he hit paydirt in the form of a shot glass and a dusty bottle of vodka. After dumping the contents in the sink, he wetted a washcloth and returned to her.
    She was curled up on her side, her long hair covering her face. At some point, she’d knocked papers off the coffee table—mostly overdue bills, from what he could tell. For a long moment, he looked at her, wondering if he should shed the armor that helped shield him not only from weapons, but from strong emotion. The hard leather, fashioned from Gerunti demon hide, was a favorite of several demon races that made their living as slave traders, assassins, and mercenaries, none of whom could afford weakness of any kind—and emotions were weakness. But Ares had learned long ago that sometimes a warrior gained a unique perspective by losing the armor.
    When you understood what your enemy was feeling, you understood how to hurt him most effectively. Or, in circumstances like this one, if you let yourself see the world the way your target did, you could revise your strategy to take advantage of her situation.
    Tossing the bills aside, he feathered the pads of his fingers over the crescent-shaped scar just under his jawbone on the left side of his neck, and his armor melted away, leaving him in black BDU pants and a black tee. These were his everyday clothes, what felt most comfortable to him. But for some reason, he felt naked now, as if he needed the leather armor.
    For what? Protection against the sleeping human female?
    He shook his head to clear it. Pestilence’s mind-fucks must really be messing with him.
    Cara stirred, turning her slightly rounded face up to him. Her eyes were swollen, and an angry bruise in the shape of a handprint marred her cheek. Anger he wouldn’t have felt had he been armored up made his skin flush hot.
    Those Aegis sons of bitches. He should have taken the time to tear them apart. Ares understood the need for ruthlessness: War was not pretty, and The Aegis was engaged in a mission to save mankind. But torturing noncombatants, especially women, was not in the field manual. Not when there were much easier and better ways to get information.
    He silently cursed them as he used soft, light strokes to wipe away the smudges of dirt from Cara’s face and hands. He lingered on her fingers. Slim, strong, with square nails coated with clear polish. He’d always had a thing for nice hands, and images bloomed in his mind, improper ones involving her touch on his body. He sensed that she’d have a light touch, her caresses tentative, and for some reason, that appealed to him.
    Something different, he supposed. His dick was on board with the something-different thing, and he shifted to make space in his pants as he finished with her hands,turning her gold pinky ring around so the tiny ruby sat properly. So feminine, like everything about her. Even her pajamas, while not the sexiest things he’d ever seen, made her seem softer, more fragile, and he cursed The Aegis yet again as he used the washcloth to mop up the streaks of blood that had dried on her throat. The wounds themselves, obviously made by a sharp blade, had sealed, and thanks to the hellhound bond, would be healed within hours. So would her bruises and scrapes. But he couldn’t be certain how complete the mind-wipe had been, and he couldn’t do anything