The Curse by Sherrilyn Kenyon, Dianna Love Read Free Book Online Page B

his tribal ancestors to soothe her … and had gotten a biting earful later for his efforts.
    She was harder to get close to than a pissed-off hornet, but in those rare moments when he had her in his arms, no other woman equaled her.
    “Storm?” she asked tentatively, still standing near her bike. “Where have you been?”
    Emotions boiled off of her, slamming him with a chaotic rush of thrill, worry and frustration.
    He waited as a noisy beater car passed, leaving the side street silent again in the wake of loud music muffled by the rolled-up windows. Striding forward a few slow steps, he paused close enough to reach out and touch her, but he waited, watching for any signs of hesitation on her part.
    Or that she’d attack.
    She’d been hurt at some time in her past, physically as well as emotionally, and would strike out like a wounded animal when caught off guard. “I’ve been healing.”
    “I see.”
    Worse than angry. She sounded hurt. His empathic gift picked up on the swell and ache of that emotion.
    He had plenty to tell her, but he needed her to hear something first before he shared all the details about what had happened. One thought kept jamming his brain, pushing its way to his lips. “I missed you.”
    She stood there, racked with indecision for several seconds, then gave him a watery smile and lunged into his arms. “I missed you, too.”
    He caught her, hugging her to him, surprised at how his body trembled at the feel of her close again.
    His definition of heaven.
    One he fought guilt over enjoying since she didn’t know he had no soul. Back in South America, those who knew his history had called him a demon. What others thought hadn’t mattered … until he’d met Evalle.
    Now he had every intention of fixing that problem.
    Just as soon as he got his hands on that witch doctor who’d stolen his soul.
    When Evalle lifted her head to look at him, he kissed the mouth he’d dreamed about during his fevered days. Her lips were soft and yielding, then demanding. All woman with a passionate side that kept him on his toes, whether she was kicking someone’s butt or allowing him a rare embrace. He’d never call Evalle a tease. She didn’t know how to play those games. Like right now. She kissed without restraint.
    Her emotions sometimes overwhelmed her.
    He overwhelmed her.
    If she ever got past her fear of intimacy, one he suspected was caused by prior abuse, the sex with her would be phenomenal. He had no doubt.
    But for now, he’d take having her in his arms.
    Her heart thumped like wild jungle drums against his chest and she clutched his back.
    She might not realize how big a step this was for her to come to him so openly, but he did.
    When their lips finally parted, he dropped his forehead down on hers. “I’ve been worried about you.”
    She pulled back and brought her hands around to grip each side of his open-collared shirt. “Me? Why didn’t you call or e-mail me again?”
    “Again?” He covered her fingers with his and she let go of his shirt, yet allowed him to hold her hand. Nice.
    “I knew that wasn’t from you,” she muttered, staring at his chest, thinking.
    “I’m not following anything you’re saying.” He lifted one of her hands and kissed her knuckles, bringing a flash of surprise to her eyes, which twinkled with undisguised happiness.
    She smiled. Such a simple thing, but her smiles were gifts to be cherished. He brushed his fingers over the damp hair that fell loose around her shoulders, but the weather had been dry and cool all day. “Why are you wet?”
    Looking down at herself, she said, “What?” She had a thing for vintage clothes and wore a short-sleeved, beige army BDU—battle dress uniform—shirt with jeans and boots. “Oh. We just had another gang battle. This one was in Oakland Cemetery. I had to clean off … stuff.”
    “What gang battles?”
    “Where have you been, Storm?” She lowered her hand from his and moved back, opening up space between