The Crossing (Immortals) by Joy Nash Read Free Book Online Page B

she grumbled. "Psychic ops. But I'm a civilian
now."
    His expression was bemused. "I'll bet they were sorry to
lose you. Witches connected to all four elements are exceedingly rare."
    "I know that."
    "And that's just your life-magic heritage. There's more,
isn't there?"
    She bit her lip. She knew what was coming.
    His voice took on a hard edge. "You're part demon."
    She forced a terse nod.
    "How far back?"
    "My father's grandmother was a demonwhore. His
mother was the product of that union. And I might as well
tell you, there's another demon-a Japanese oni-way back
on my mother's side. And I have lesser death-magic ancestors, too. A couple of Norwegian trolls, on my father's
side."
    He was silent for a moment; then, "Interesting family
you have, love."
    A hysterical laugh escaped. "That's one way of putting it."

    "And yet-" His lips crooked in a ghost of a real smile.
"You've got the look of an angel."
    She raised her brows. "Angels are blond."
    "A dark angel," he clarified.
    His voice sounded strange. She couldn't interpret the
new expression that had crept into his eyes. He cupped
her face again, one hand on either side this time.
    And then, before she quite realized what he intended,
he leaned forward and kissed her.

     

She tasted like honey. Smelled like that wild, perfect moment that rode before a breaking storm. Felt like that
breathless instant at the start of a show, when he took the
stage before thousands of cheering fans. Mac ravaged
the witch's lips, taking full advantage of her startled gasp.
His tongue quested inside the slick mystery of her mouth
as he maneuvered around the stick shift and pressed her
body into the leased car's stained upholstery. He fought
the urge to rip her ragged army jacket to shreds.
    Gods in Annwyn. What was he doing?
    He wasn't quite sure. All he knew was that he didn't plan
on stopping any time soon. There was an exquisite buzzing
in his head, and a blessed heaviness in his groin. He hadn't
felt this turned on-this alive-in a very long while.
    He plundered her mouth, invading, demanding. Sucked
on her lower lip. His senses drank in her magic; it hummed
through his veins like the most potent whisky. Heady and
rich, she was an angel with a devil's bite. Perfect balance.
Life magic and death magic bound together so seamlessly
it was impossible to tell where one left off and the other
began. It was like nothing he'd ever known, nothing he'd
ever imagined was possible.
    A perfect storm of power. The woman he'd told Christine couldn't possibly exist. One who was strong enough to
intrigue and challenge. It was just too bloody bad she was using her magic for nefarious purposes. The thought angered him. His kiss turned brutal.

    He expected her to push him away. She didn't. But neither did she encourage him. Her passivity stroked his anger,
and his lust. He speared his fingers through her short, soft
hair. It puffed against his jaw like a dark, silky kiss. He
clenched his fingers in the curls.
    She reacted with a small sound deep in her throat. He
lifted his head and looked into her eyes. They were chocolate dark and hazed with desire. Her gaze flicked to his
mouth. Her fingers curled on the collar of his jacket and
held on tightly. She wanted him, and not just because of
the ricocheted spell, which had all but faded.
    An intense rush of satisfaction heated his groin. Mac had
always enjoyed sex-he was half Sidhe, after all. But this?
This coiling dark desire was something new. Something fueled, he was sure, by the dark stain on his soul.
    Anger and lust-and the devil only knew what elsetook hold. His hand snaked between the open edges of her
jacket. Her shirt was some flimsy, soft material; he could
feel the outline of her bra-no padding-beneath it. He
stroked the upper edge. Lace? Incongruous, that. She didn't
seem like the lacy type. He smiled against her mouth and
wondered what color. He liked lace.
    He brushed a thumb lightly across her nipple.