Immortals After Dark 03 - No Rest for the Wicked

the Crazy Frog ring tone into Kaderin’s favorite phone, she said, “How about I give you her private cell phone number?” Turnabout’s a bitch, Regin.
    He promptly handed her a card, and on the back she scratched down the area code and Regin’s number—aptly, it was eight, six, seven, five, three, oh, nine. When Kaderin gave it to him, he removed the ring. He leaned closer, brushing her skin as he handed it to her. The touch did nothing for her, though he obviously thought it would. He should think that. Any woman would consider him sexy, and yet Kaderin felt no spark, no attraction.
    “Tell the driver to stop the car at the next light.”
    “I’d give you the diamond as well if you’d stay tonight, cariña.”
    She should stay with him tonight. Sebastian was probably giving a nymph one of his fierce, heated kisses right now.
    Instead, Kaderin murmured, “This sees me content.”
    Why not take the hot half-demon to bed? Because she wanted to go to her room. And cry.

30
    S ebastian had hardly slept or drunk since the night in Colombia. For the last week, he’d struggled to get Kaderin out of his mind.
    Nothing worked.
    He was becoming obsessed with her. He gave a bitter laugh. Becoming? He was already obsessed with her.
    Even after everything, he still wanted her.
    Kaderin had gone to that club dressed for seduction, had fucked that male all night for all he knew—but at every opportunity, she’d told Sebastian she would never sleep with him.
    For all his intentions, Sebastian hadn’t touched another female, couldn’t even imagine taking a woman who wasn’t her. With that bite, he might have felt as though he were claiming her, but she’d claimed him as well. There was no way he was living his life without having it again.
    No, he’d decided he’d settle for none but her. He needed to touch the body she withheld from him. He needed to hurt her as she’d hurt him.
    She’d convinced him that her aversion to him wasn’t merely because he was a vampire. And how could he not believe that, when he’d fared no better as a human?
    Goddamn it, what is it about me?
    That night all those years ago with the frigid widow had shaken him, crushed his already battered confidence. And even now it affected him. He hadn’t been able to penetrate her. He was large, and she’d been completely cold. There’d been no arousal. No wonder—she wouldn’t let him touch her body, not even her breasts. Just lifted her skirt in the bed without touching him, either.
    She’d hissed in pain with each try, then finally beat against his back, screaming, “Enough, you bumbling oaf!”
    He’d been twenty-three and bewildered by her sudden disgust. “Then... why?”
    Every word enunciated, she’d said, “ I lost a wager... ”
    Now, Kaderin, the woman he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything, desired him just as little.
    Without fail, he’d been kind to women. He’d shown them respect and courtesy. Without fail, he’d never had success with them.
    When he found Kaderin next, he would steal the prize she sought. Then he’d strike another bargain with her—this time for another pleasure denied him as a mortal, one he’d fantasized about for so long.
    He didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. His face was pale and gaunt, his eyes constantly black.
    He was becoming as ruthless as she was. Gone were the impulses to tenderness, the feeling of being charmed when she tucked her hair behind her pointed ear or blushed along her cheekbones.
    Maybe when all was said and done and he’d turned as vicious as she was, he’d be a fitting mate for her.

    Battambang Province , Cambodia Day 24

    Prize: The Box of the Nagas, one ancient wooden box carved with the heads of five Nagas, worth thirteen points

In the darkened night, through pounding rain, Kaderin spied an odd treeless field. In this region, the sweeping jungle tumbled over everything stationary, from car chassis to carved temple, but not here. No homes were built in the field. Only piles of rusted junk littered it.
    At the edge, a sign stood planted at an angle, with creeping vines weighing it down. She tugged the vines from it and found the square metal of the sign had been cut into an hourglass shape, most likely so the locals wouldn’t use it for roofing material.
    Emblazoned across the front was a skull-and-crossbones warning.
    So this would be it—a boundary minefield clotted with explosives.
    And somewhere in the center was buried a wooden box carved