Angels of Darkness

I have to be sure. I have to be absolutely sure.”
    So he wouldn’t hurt her again.
    â€œI’m sure,” she said.
    He didn’t hold back. But he came slowly, so slowly, holding her gaze with every step. Her heart thundered as he bent his head toward hers again.
    â€œI’m only surprised that you held back,” he murmured.
    So was she. Breathless, she said, “I didn’t want to take advantage of you again. I want you to be sure, too. But as soon as you kiss me, all bets are off.”
    â€œAll right, then.”
    He framed her face with his hands, his callused palms cupping her cheeks. Her breath shuddered. His lips opened over hers, hot, immediately searching. Finally. Joy swept aside the need, sweet and light, and she laughed against his mouth. Marc. She felt his smile, the curve of his lips, then he licked lightly into her mouth and desire came crashing back, stronger, hotter. Moaning, she rose onto her toes, trying to get closer.
    No waiting. She needed him now. Now.
    Her fingers fisted in his hair. The table skidded back as she pushed off it, leaping onto him. Her legs wrapped around solid muscle at his waist. So long and lean. So hard everywhere. Clinging to him, mouths fused, she rubbed against his aroused length.
    His groan fueled her need. She deepened the kiss and tasted him, vanilla and wet heat. Rough hands dropped to her thighs, his fingers spreading over bare skin.
    She tore her mouth from his, panting. “Higher.”
    His hair disheveled by her fingers, eyes shining with need, he carried her to the table again. “Slower.”
    Foolish man. He could try.
    He set her on the table, the surface cool against the backs of her thighs. Deliberately, Radha lay back, spreading herself out before him.
    She grinned wickedly. “Did you like the ice cream?”
    Without giving him the chance to reply, she formed the illusion: a scoop of vanilla at the juncture of her thighs, melting from the heat of her flesh. Marc, kneeling between her legs, holding her open and gently lapping. She made him taste it, sweet and cold.
    His body stiffened, gaze fixed on the scene before him. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet hers. His voice was low and rough. “That’s how I’ll satisfy you this time.”
    God, yes. Her back arched, offering her entire body to him, his to feast from.
    â€œBut you’ve got it wrong.” He stepped between her legs, through the Marc kneeling in her illusion. “When my tongue’s on you, I could never be so dainty.”
    And he wasn’t. Not when his mouth found hers again. Not when he slowly kissed his way down her body, learning every inch and coming back for another taste. Not when he knelt, unleashed his hunger, burning her alive.
    But she wasn’t satisfied, not just by that. And not by sucking her fingers into her mouth, casting tactile illusions that made him stiffen and groan while he fed from her. Not until he was solid against her tongue, shuddering as he shouted her name—without a single illusion between them, just pleasure that was perfect and real. Not until he said dazedly, “I’ll never last a year.”
    Then was she satisfied. But only for now.

CHAPTER 5
    T he coroner would have probably been too easy.
    Special Investigations hadn’t been able to send Marc everything he’d asked for by the time he’d arranged to meet Dr. Richard Brand at the county morgue, but they’d come through with a substantial background. The info on Brand had been squeaky-clean—not even a speeding ticket to his name, or an indication of a payout from Bronner in his financials. For a man of sixty, that perfect record was a hell of an accomplishment, and enough to raise Marc’s suspicions a little more. Demons with fake identities often kept their backgrounds spotless.
    At four o’clock in the morning, no one was around to question how Marc and Radha traveled from Riverbend to the county seat without a car. Silver-haired and robust with health, Brand met them at the morgue’s receiving doors. His mind was shielded.
    For a moment, Marc considered blasting through those mental blocks to see if a demon lay beneath. He held out his hand instead.
    Beside him, Radha tensed and stepped forward, leaving behind an image of the suited Special Agent Bhattacharyya. Demon or not, Brand wouldn’t see the crossbow she called in, her slick movement, or the bolt she held an inch from the man’s