His Dark Bond by Anne Marsh Page A

sharp, hot kiss. Her breathy little inhalation had him wondering if he was going to be able to stop.
    God, she tasted so good . The females Nael chose had always been older, if not in biological years, then in experience. They’d seen it all, done it all, and they’d made their price tag perfectly clear. Nessa St. James was all fear and indignation, a sweet, feminine anger—coupled with a deliciously unwanted erotic thrill. She didn’t want to want him, but she did, and he could taste it as clearly in her soul as he could feel the sweet, hot warmth of her body curling toward his.
    He wasn’t sure which emotion tasted sweeter. Fear or desire.
    Wrapping one large hand around her waist, he pulled her closer. She was too important to risk. And that wild, feral part of himself wouldn’t let him lose her. He was going to keep her safe.
    For someone else.
    She shoved against his body with her own, demanding space, and he bit back a groan. “It’s not safe around you,” she accused.
    “No.” He shook his head slowly. He’d give her that much of the truth. “But we’re not the problem. You are.”
    She shot him another glare. “No one wants to kill me. On the other hand, someone clearly has it out for you. I’d like to be left out of this.”
    “You think it was an accident that rogue ended up in your lecture hall?”
    “Yes. Yes, I do.” She was connecting the dots, though, even if she didn’t want to.
    The rogue in Nessa’s lecture hall had long since stopped fighting.
    “He came for you , baby. He’s an assassin, and he was sent to kill you.”
    “Prove it.” The professor was back.
    There was no way she hadn’t heard about the murders that had plagued M City in recent months. No one was that isolated. “Three months ago,” he began, “there was a series of murders. A recent immigrant. A stockbroker’s wife.”
    “They found her in a red negligee.” Nessa nodded.
    Yeah, she’d heard the story. Good. Made his job here easier.
    “Dead on the Arbat and covered in blood,” she said grimly.
    “Cracked wide open,” he corrected, “from pelvis to sternum.” If the negligee hadn’t been red to begin with, the blood would have dyed it crimson. Wrong time, wrong place—that was MVD’s conclusion. Zer and his brothers had known better than the human policing unit. “Two more after that, that MVD found.”
    “Were there others?” She looked at him and clearly drew her own conclusions. “ You’re dangerous,” she said. “ You’re a killer.”
    He didn’t deny it. He didn’t want her brand of redemption for himself; it was a luxury he couldn’t afford, and didn’t deserve. Besides, he was beyond all that touchy-feely, come-into-the-light-my-son bullshit anyhow. When Michael had kicked his ass out of the Heavens, he’d thrown away the key, and Zer almost didn’t give a fuck anymore. He’d stood on his own two feet long enough to get used to it. But his brothers deserved whatever chance he could give them.
    “You are telling me this for a reason, right?” she insisted.
    “They were all on a list,” he said, careful not to share too much. “A list your name is on, too.” Christ, that sounded lame. The yellow pages had lists of names, but he hadn’t gone hunting there.
    Clearly, she agreed with him. “You kidnapped me because my name is on some hit list? That makes this a job for MVD,” she scoffed. “This has absolutely nothing to do with me, and you have nothing I want.”
    That’s where she was wrong. It had everything to do with her, but he couldn’t afford to tell her that. He needed her to agree—now—and if she knew what she was agreeing to, she’d ask for sun, moon, and stars. And he’d have to do his damnedest to provide. No way.
    “The murdered women were bond mates,” she guessed.
    “Yes.” And would have been soul mates, if the Fallen had gotten to them first. If the Fallen had known. They’d been potential soul mates .
    “Goblin junkies?” She hunched her