Phoenix Burning. Patti O'Shea

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СКАЧАТЬ the area, Ivar tried to use his years as a warrior, his centuries as an enforcer, to narrow the options. In a fraction of a second, he took in the trees and bushes, the underground parking garages, the shadowy doorways and alleys, and grimly realized there was no shortage of good cover. The enemy could be anywhere and could attack Phoenix from any direction.

      She continued walking and the distance between them widened far enough that Ivar had to battle his instincts. He wanted to be beside her, ready to defend her, and he couldn’t be. He needed to stay back, to ensure that he didn’t leave himself vulnerable when the attack came.

      And it would come. His instincts said as much and they were too finely honed to dismiss.

      He knew when the hunter moved to keep pace with Phoenix and Ivar trailed behind them, still searching. The fact that his adversary was mobile ruled out a few of the hiding places he’d tagged as possibilities, but it didn’t eliminate enough of them to make a difference in his tactics.

      The clouds that covered the moon thickened, leaving the streetlights as the only illumination as Phoenix approached a corner. Once she turned, she’d be on a street with a lot more activity. Ivar flexed his talons and shifted, putting more weight on the balls of his feet, preparing himself to run. To fight. His instincts weren’t wrong.

      At the first hint of motion, he raced toward Phoenix. Her surprise made her slow to react, and even with his preternatural speed, Ivar knew she’d be on her own for a few seconds, long enough for her to be hurt badly.

      Long enough for her to die.

      But in less than an instant, Phoenix began to defend herself. She wasn’t practiced in hand-to-hand combat, that was obvious, but she wasn’t cowering.

      Long, sharp talons slashed toward her throat. Raising her forearm, Phoenix blocked the blow.

      Blood dripped from her arm and Ivar dug for more speed. He reached her in time to prevent a second strike. Grabbing the assailant by the shoulder, Ivar spun him around.

      Masked. A vampire then, he decided although the other continued to shield his energy. A demon wouldn’t need to conceal his identity, but another vampire might.

      Talons raked toward his eyes.

      Ivar knocked the strike off target, but the tips ripped his cheek open. He grunted and put the pain out of his mind. Vampires healed fast and his body had already begun to repair the damage.

      He used his own talons, striking with speed and accuracy. The vampire connected with his chest, his arms, even his jeans, but Ivar ignored the blows and focused on his next attack.

      Phoenix, though, growled her outrage and leaped at the enemy. She didn’t have fangs, but she had claws. They were short, but looked as sharp as his own. The masked vampire spun clear. But Phoenix had slashed with power and the lack of contact left her off balance, staggering to remain standing.

      The need to go to Phoenix, to help her steady herself overwhelmed Ivar for an instant, long enough for the assailant to regroup.

      A few seconds too late, he plunged after his enemy, but the delay cost Phoenix. The talons sliced open her sweater, leaving ragged slits in the weave. An instant later he saw the blood flowing from her wounds.

      A red haze coated Ivar’s mind. No one hurt Phoenix and got away with it. He launched himself at the bastard.

      His assault held little finesse, but he fought with the ferocity of a berserker. His claws and fangs tore at flesh, uncaring where he struck, only that he caused maximum damage. And the other vampire continued to try to get through him, continued to try to reach Phoenix.

      Ivar’s rage grew. Emotion had no place in battle—he knew this—and yet he couldn’t tamp it down.

      The tip of his claw nicked an artery.

      His enemy hissed. Not a sound of pain, but one of frustration, and then turned and ran. Ivar tensed, ready to pursue, ready to hunt down the attacker and tear him to pieces, but a soft touch ran over his back. Because it was Phoenix, he didn’t snarl and bare his fangs, but it took time to pull back from the blood lust.

      He turned toward her. “Why’d you stop me?” he asked when his mind cleared enough to form a sentence.

      “Because you’re hurt.”

      It was only then that Ivar became aware of the dozens of cuts covering his body. A few were deep enough to have bled copiously, but all had already begun to heal and none of them were serious. Ivar shook his head. “You should have let me go after him while he was weakened, before he had a chance to heal from that final blow.”

      “It was a woman, not a man,” Phoenix said.

      That shocked Ivar into momentary silence and he ran through everything he could remember about the attacker. Nothing said female to him. “Many male vampires are relatively short.”

      “Yes.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you know what I am?”

      He didn’t bother to play dumb. “I know.”

      “Then you’re aware that I don’t feel things the same way that you do and that male and female energy reads very differently to me. The vampire who jumped me was a woman, there’s no question about it.”

      Ivar filed that information away in his brain, but before he could ask any more questions, Phoenix came closer, and for the first time, he noticed she wore no bra. Her hard nipples peaked through the holes in her sweater. A different kind of haze swamped him, driving all thoughts of the other vampire out of his head. He retracted his talons and teeth, not wanting to risk hurting her.

      As he scented her arousal, his own body reacted. Things fell into place. She’d stopped him from pursuit because of this, because adrenaline had pushed her desire to feed to the point of no return. To the point where she couldn’t wait long enough to find someone else.

      He growled low in his throat. As if he’d allow any other man to touch her. He’d fought for her, would have killed to keep her safe. She was his.

      Phoenix continued forward until she invaded his space. She didn’t ask permission before reaching out and stroking his cock through his jeans. He’d already been about half-hard, but she quickly coaxed him to full erection. Her eyes never left his, trying to read him, his willingness, and his state of excitement. He met her gaze without flinching and did his own studying.

      Her skin was flushed, her eyes darkened. His attention drifted downward, lingering on her breasts again, before heading farther south. Her skirt was short, making her legs seem impossibly long, but he didn’t linger over his admiration. Phoenix had her thighs clenched tightly together and was shifting, giving herself pleasure as she stroked him. He put his hands on her hips, holding her in place. “No, my little tantric. The next time you orgasm, it will be while I’m deep inside you, not from your rocking.”

      “Hurry,” she demanded and arched her hips, trying to push herself against him.

      Ivar relaxed his grip and Phoenix immediately pressed her body into his. The sensation of her nipples brushing his chest through their shredded clothes all but shattered what little remained of his control.

      Wrapping his arms more firmly around her, he lowered his head to kiss her. Her mouth opened beneath his before СКАЧАТЬ