The steel in her spine softened, her guard dropping. He could only breathe and feel her breath against his chest. It occurred to him that he was taking comfort as much as he was trying to give it, and the idea threatened to unnerve him.
He tore his eyes from her face, from her parted lips and evocative eyes, so that he stared into a well-sculpted hedge instead. There were thorns among the dark green foliage, the leaf edges lined in severe points that would jab a finger if one attempted to touch it. A plant that was well guarded from predators. Like Miranda. Only,hewas the predator snaking his way through the thorns.
He stopped short of letting his lips trail over the soft, loose tendrils of her hair.
“We should move, it’s not smart to linger,” he whispered.
“Yes…we should,” she replied.
He held her now, their bodies couldn’t be closer, and yet something else burned between them. Something—inexplicably—worse than passion.
He eased back, gently ripping his senses free of her. There was no part of him that wasn’t vulnerable to her, that wasn’t ready to lay down and submit. To end this game and just let the consequences be damned. Devin did not think he could hold himself back any longer. The last of his will had snapped and Miranda had no idea the danger she was in now, how very thoroughly he could ruin her should she say the word.
And he would not hesitate. All he needed was thebaresthint that she wanted him again and he would lock her away until he could satisfy her every carnal desire.
For now, he continued to breathe, the scent of her making him drunk all over again. “Where were you planning to go, Mira?”
“The address on the paper.”
“Well, if you’re amenable, I may have a safer option. An old comrade of mine is currently captain of the Watchmen, one of the few to make it out with me.”
She was quiet. He expected her to argue with him. Instead, she nodded.
“We should go, then, Mira,” he said, drawing his knuckles along her cheek. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. The hand on her back clenched, pulling her tighter, closer. “Say the word, Mira, and we’ll go.”
“Yes…go.”
He grinned.
She was going to be his.
And if he was going to hell, he was going to make sure hethoroughlydeserved it.
Chapter Nine
WatchmenHeadquarterssatina hulking building connecting a Garrison cathedral and a Sanctuary hostel. On one side, the cathedral with stained glass and elaborate carvings of the Divine while the hostel had subdued dark stone and no windows. Patrons came and went at their leisure, but not from the cathedral. Thralls and blood donors used the hostel as a gathering place or to, occasionally, interact with their hosts on more neutral territory.
Devin held the door for Miranda. His eyes followed her incredible figure as she passed, her attention too focused on their surroundings to notice. The door swung closed behind him as he paused to admire her silhouette against the ambient lighting. It was dim, but the heavy shadows made her all the more tantalizing. He was merely biding time. Her only salvation would be to resist him, which, for her sake, would be the wiser course.
But if she did not.
His gaze grew dark. Focused.
A sprawling interior expanded before them, the main chamber open to high ceilings with sectioned rooms and offices acting as a perimeter on the upper floors. It was tiered, with levels of cubicles and desks scattered or in rows, there was no observable pattern he could detect. The moon shone through elongated windows rising high into the rafters, with streetlamps set up in a grid-like system for extra light.
There was an industrial feel with brick and metal utilized in unique or practical ways offset by the scattering of thrift-style furniture. Pipe work holding rustic planks and stacks of books directly beside worn, whitewashed shelves or rusted filing cabinets. At this time of night, the place was nearly empty. The noise and bustle had to be spectacular during the day.
A secretary sat near the entrance and looked up from a book as they entered, hidden behind protective glass, he had to lift a vent to be heard.
“Can I help you?”
Devin tore his eyes from Miranda. “Is Blair still here?”
A nametag read Jones, who shook his head. “He went out about an hour ago. Can I take a message?”
“What about Rachel Stone?”
“Ah, yeah, she’s still here.” Jones’s smile was strained. “She’s always here late.” Devin would bet anything that Gideon had slipped out drinking or to charm some woman into lowering her standards for a night, leaving Rachel to clean up whatever mess he left behind.
