His Dark Bond by Anne Marsh Read Free Book Online Page A

the streets sliding past. Hurting Nessa St. James wasn’t part of the plan.
    Not yet.

C HAPTER F OUR
    Z er tapped the leather-duster-wrapped bundle tossed over his shoulder. Not a particularly elegant mode of transport, but Nessa had made her choice when she’d refused to get out of the SUV. From the muffled squeak of outrage, he’d been patting her ass. Too damned bad. Deliberately, he stroked a hand over those smooth curves. Yeah, definitely ass. Smooth. Warm. Deliciously feminine. The unknown brother who took her would be a damn lucky male.
    The bouncer guarding G2’s door let them in without hesitation, but there was no missing the spark of curiosity or the lazy, sensual appreciation in the male’s eyes as he got with the program. He acknowledged Zer’s entrance with a hard nod of his head and then turned his eyes straight back to the street. Good male. There shouldn’t be any trouble here, in the heart of Goblin territory, but no one survived three millennia by being careless.
    He took the stairs two at a time, deliberately tightening his arm when Nessa St. James picked up the pace of her struggles. She wasn’t stupid. She knew she was good and trapped. Plus, Nael and Vkhin were hard on his heels, the brothers flanking him. Even if she got free of Zer, she wasn’t going anywhere.
    Keying the combo on the access pad outside his door, he pushed open the door with a booted foot when the light glowed green. Zer had kept a suite of rooms above G2’s for the last decade. Most of his brothers had their own lairs scattered around M City, and the suite here was one of several he maintained. Not a home—just a place to lay his head when he was done hunting. He’d never let himself forget that this place, this world, was temporary. Somehow, he was getting them all back home.
    He stroked his leather-wrapped bundle again. He had the means to win now.
    He’d forgotten what it felt like to succeed, damn it. The slow, hot curl of satisfaction unfolding in his gut. It was a shame that Nessa St. James was going to be the one to pay the price for that success, but he’d make it up to her. She’d have the favor to look forward to, and that had to be a powerful incentive.
    He moved swiftly through the suite, past the unused cozy grouping of sofas—because none of the Fallen were given to sitting around and chatting—and dropped her onto his bed. The bed wasn’t the black leather and sleek chrome Nael favored—minimalist crap picked out from a magazine spread. No, Zer had chosen Russian antiques, the really old ones that belonged in a damn museum, because they reminded him of the country estates and hunting lodges he’d favored four hundred years ago. Estate-sale relics that smelled of lemon polish and age. Downright feudal, as one of his brothers had pointed out, but he was no interior decorator—he was the sire. He was feudal.
    The duster wriggled with feminine indignation, and he sprawled in a large leather armchair beside the bed, watching. Hunting dogs had scratched deep gouges into the surface.
    “Out,” he said softly, and, behind him, Nael and Vkhin took their cue, vanishing swiftly. The door clicked quietly behind them as she scrambled out of his coat, her eyes shooting daggers across the thick velvet counterpane at him.
    “You killed someone. You killed that ... that man in the lecture hall.”
    He laughed. “I did, baby, but he and his pals had to die. They came after you.” He could read the truth on her face. She wasn’t used to viewing her life as a battlefield, but he was. Every choice, every move he made was another move in the chess game he was playing with the Archangel Michael. “And he wasn’t a man. He was a rogue.” She frowned, so he plowed on with the explanation. “A rogue is a Fallen angel who’s gone that one extra step. He’s drunk a few souls dry, and he’s addicted to the taste. He’ll keep on killing to satisfy that thirst. There’s no rehab for that kind of