Ritual Sins by Anne Stuart Page A

him. He had no explanation for what happened when he focused his energy on some wounded creature. Calvin would have been dead if it weren’t for Luke, holding his hand, willing the strength back into him after he’d been savagely beaten and raped in Joliet.
    Rachel wasn’t going to die, no thanks to Calvin. Luke had no illusions about who had set Rachel up. Calvin had delivered her to the psycho ward, and if it weren’t for Luke’s instincts it might have been too late.
    Calvin would have felt no regrets, and nothing Luke could say to him would instill any kind of conventional sense of morality. He considered Rachel Connery a threat to Luke. And when it came to his self-appointed need to protect Luke, Calvin could be entirely ruthless.
    Rachel needed to be neutralized and disposed of, as quickly as possible. On that point Luke agreed with Calvin completely. They were simply at odds as to how to best go about it.
    It was as simple as their disparate natures, thatCalvin would choose murder by proxy, and Luke would choose seduction. And obviously he wasn’t going to be allowed the luxury of doing it leisurely.
    She was breathing deeply. They’d stripped her when they’d brought her to the trauma center, and like the rest of the followers she wore no constricting underwear beneath the loose cotton robes. She was too thin, but he wanted to see her breasts. It would be a simple enough matter to unfasten the tie and expose them to the air.
    Unfortunately there was a small cadre of followers in the corner, meditating devotedly for her recovery. He’d have to wait for a more private time to see her, touch her. He leaned over her, his long hair obscuring his face in the darkness, and he let his hands skim her face.
    She didn’t move, didn’t quiver, lost in a drug-induced dream. He expected those dreams were erotic.
    Her skin was flushed beneath his cool hands. He let his thumbs stroke her eyelids, his long fingers cradle the back of her head, moving down to the back of her neck. Her mouth was open slightly, and he let his thumbs trail over her lips. Soft.
    Even in the murky light he could see the bruising on her throat. She didn’t like being mute—it made her furious, and it gave him a wickedly unfair advantage. If she continued to be unable tospeak there was no way she could cause trouble—she’d be trapped here, at his mercy.
    Ah, but she was already at his mercy, though she hadn’t quite realized it yet. She was already trapped. And he didn’t want this to be too easy. He put his hands on her bruised throat, easily encircling it, his fingers covering the marks of Angel’s strong hands, and he felt the energy flowing from him, into her.
    She jerked, as if she’d had an electric shock, and he released her immediately, sitting back on his heels. She was abnormally sensitive to his touch. Good.
    They were watching him jealously, longingly, from their corner by the incense brazier, watching as he put his hands over her. Waiting for him to finish. He wouldn’t disappoint them.
    He stretched out over her, only their clothes touching, as he held himself a few scant inches above her, his muscles taut with the effort. It had been a long time since he’d been tempted to give in to his powerful appetites, to let his body sink down on top of a woman’s, to touch and taste and take. He wasn’t sure if it was simply that he was coming to the natural end of this odd period in his life, or whether it had something to do with Rachel herself.
    He doubted it was Rachel. He liked women. Liked their curves and their scents and the sweetnoises they made when he fucked them. He liked their temper and their intelligence and their nurturing. But he’d never found a woman who could make him risk anything he’d gained in this life, and he wasn’t about to start with a cool bitch like Stella’s daughter.
    She was warm, the heat rising from her body, and he was so cold. In her drugged stupor she looked younger, gentle, capable of