Break

  Don’t bother looking for trouble. It’ll find you.

  An Angels and Demons Story

  Layla Roads’ life is a laundry list of irony. Trailer trash. High school dropout. Beautiful liar. Highly skilled computer hacker. And one additional, extraordinary gift: the ability to see the demons and angels engaged in a ferocious battle on the urban streets at night.

  When kidnappers hold her brother, Layla finds herself up to her neck in a plot to bring down a powerful blood demon. A crude, sexual, violent demon who kills without flinching, pushes her buttons, and looks at her with too-knowing eyes. What’s worse is she feels an answering tug of desire.

  It doesn’t take Gethin long to figure out he has a pretty traitor on his hands—and that she’s being blackmailed. As a lone human female her quest to save her brother is hopeless—just like the attraction between them. For even if Gethin helps her save all she holds dear, she can never be his…

  Warning: Includes a devilish demon, a heroine caught between a rock and a hard place, several magical battles, and the steamy backseat of a car.

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Copyright © 2010 by

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-041-3

  Edited by Heidi Moore

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: May 2010

  Break

  Tarra Blaize

  Dedication

  For Kirill, Louise and Danielle.

  You made me believe this was a matter of when , not if .

  Chapter One

  The sheer sexuality of the blood demon shook Layla Roads down to her core every time her gaze met his heavy-lidded red eyes. Through the transparent walls of her high-tech cubicle, she had a clear view of him prowling across the empty office with all the dangerous, lithe grace of a panther. Given how his eyes fixed upon her with blatant hunger, she couldn’t help feeling as if she were the prey. Prey that, as casually as possible, hid the computer document she’d been in the process of memorizing and pulled up another one on-screen.

  There was no one in the office besides her and Gethin. The downtown LA cityscape that sprawled out behind her through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls had yet to be tinted with the orange hues of morning. In the teeming metropolis that extended for miles beyond the heart of the urban jungle, most humans remained in bed behind locked doors, pretending to be safe from the shifting shadows of the night. Night was the battleground for the demons who had escaped from Hell and the angels who wished to push them back in.

  The snowy white carpet beneath her heels would soon be stained black with blood. She didn’t know when, just that it was a matter of time. Her trembling fingers removed the prim plastic glasses from her face to check the wire core visible through the gray frames of her glasses. A bad habit, but one she hadn’t been able to yet. The information she was memorizing was the only thing that could save her brother’s life, but it did nothing to save her own. She was well aware that she was a liability. What demons did to liabilities caused her to wake up night after night drenched in her own sweat and muffling screams of terror.

  Perhaps the air demons would be merciful and kill her quickly and painlessly once her role in their scheme was done. If they left her behind Gethin would know that she had betrayed him, and she knew very well what he was capable of. His vengeance came from a deeper, uglier part of Hell than theirs did.

  She had decided long ago that Gethin never slept. Despite this, there were never signs of exhaustion on his face, just carefully controlled violence and good old-fashioned lust that never failed to ignite a matching heat in her. This morning was no exception. The flimsy door to where she worked swung open with a speed that made her jump in her chair, even though she’d steeled herself.

  “Ms. Gills.” His voice was darker, deeper than the crevices his kind had crawled from, she thought bitterly. It was underscored with pure steel. Heat too—a weapon he used on her without mercy. He wanted her. He’d made it clear by the second day. Anyway, anywhere. In his bed. On her desk. On his desk. On the floor. Against the wall. And no matter how much indifference or discouragement she threw at him, that list

  grew longer and longer with every passing day. If she’d been exactly who she pretended to be, then who knew? Perhaps then she could act on the desire he stoked. But she wasn’t Ms. Lana Gills as he thought she was. So she could never let it go further than words.

  There was no hesitation showing on the hard, angled planes of his face or in his stride. His dark eyebrows formed a heavy, disapproving line across his forehead as he stalked behind her and pulled out the umpteenth hair clip she’d purchased, letting her heavy hair tumble down about her shoulders.

  The heat of his fingers burned her scalp as if he’d branded her. “That,” she said in the most frosty voice possible, “was uncalled for.” Her voice didn’t shake the way she worried it would.

  Gethin simply sat on the corner of her desk and tilted her face up with a relentless hand. She didn’t fight his superior strength, especially as he opened his other fist to let small pieces of silver rain down on her lap. She scowled at him, meeting his intense gaze squarely. “You owe me a new hair clip.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I thought I’d told you to keep your hair down, Ms. Gills. It suits you.” His gaze, crimson red where hers was brown, moved slowly from her eyes to caress the golden curls he’d just released. She’d been warned he had a thing for blondes. They’d been right.

  “I generally find that women with tight buns are restricting their sexuality.”

  She couldn’t help it. She snorted. “This, sir, is a workplace.”

  He grinned wolfishly, and her heart skipped a beat. Whether it did so because the rare humor that graced his face made him even more desirable or because he was fooling around with her bloodstream again, she didn’t know. She’d once made the mistake of accusing him of elevating her heart rate as blood demons were able to do. She’d nearly ended up flat on her back on top of his desk, shirt unbuttoned, skirt around her waist, begging for more.

  Well, if she had to be honest, she had ended up there, but given how quickly she’d come to her senses and scrambled away, it didn’t count.

  “This may be a workplace, Ms. Gills, but there’s more than office space in this building.” He casually reached out with one large hand and stroked her inner thigh right where her pencil skirt ended. Heat rushed towards the spot. Could Gethin somehow sense her blood rushing to the surface of her skin as her nerves went on overload? She had to wear pants. Really. The only problem was, after one week working for Gethin, someone had broken into her company apartment and stolen all of her sensible work clothes. She could still remember her outrage when she opened her closet door one morning and found her clothes stolen and replaced with row upon row of blouses, skirts, and sheer undergarments secretaries would only wear on the silver screen. Judging by the cool smile on his face when she came to work wearing the most modest combination possible, she was fairly certain he was responsible. After all, who else in this office was enough of an ass to do so?

  He scraped lightly with his nails down the sheer nylon of her t
ights. Trying to disguise the jolt of her body, she reached out to pick up her steaming mug of coffee. Her hand shook too much to lift it. Too much

  7

  caffeine, she told herself, despite the fact that she had yet to take her first sip. She slid her glasses back on and turned her attention to numerous rows of symbols scrolling slowly down her computer screen.

  He glanced at her monitor. “Is that the document I asked you to track down in the database?”

  She nodded.

  “Email it to me. Now. This document isn’t your responsibility any longer. Don’t change the format.”

  She knew very well why the format of the symbols had to be preserved. They weren’t symbols after all. She’d finally put together all the patterns she’d been agonizing over day and night. The coded words and numbers in the endless data she was able to access as she faxed reports and emailed spreadsheets were cleverly disguised as financial market data and weaponry orders.

  Mission accomplished.

  She’d cracked the code.

  Never before had she been any kind of undercover spy or deep-rooted special agent. She was just Layla, a con artist with the ability to disguise herself and the brilliance to tackle almost anything related to a computer. She also could see paranormal beings when they had shielded themselves from human eyes.

  Yes, she, trailer-park trash extraordinaire, was one of the few humans who could see what the angels and demons were up to, day after day, week after week, year after year ever since Hell had overflowed five years ago.

  A pity she had that rare ability, because she wouldn’t have gotten into this mess otherwise. A mess with gorgeous dark curls and red eyes that could go from ice to lava in the space of a second. While she had so far avoided his fury, his passion would be her downfall. Why could he not be as needlessly cruel a demon as the others so he could go firmly into her “evil” category? She knew of other demon assassins, ones who made deranged human serial killers look like Bambi, for crying out loud.

  But Gethin seemed…different. As if he had some sort of a purpose, a moral code, and he channeled his violence purely into political assassinations. His calling card was nicking his target with a bullet and bleeding them dry despite any medical attempts to save the victim. But what truly terrified her were the long drawn-out tortures done in the lower levels of the building to get information. Tortures he’d refer to in a calm, detached manner, warning her that he wouldn’t be back for five hours. Hold my calls and reach my cell phone for emergencies only. I’ll be in the basement digging for data.

  She’d been shown the basement on the second day. It was a large maze of empty rooms with sinks and drains, chairs and tables. All bloodstained. All so silent that she could still hear the echo of doomed screams ricocheting from wall to wall, forever trapped in this never-ending violence gripping them all.

  “Ms. Gills?”

  Her attention snapped back. She flushed. “Yes?”

  “Is that an answer to my question?”

  8

  “What did you say?” She thought back to what he might have asked while she was lost in thought but drew a blank.

  “You do sleep naked then.” His fangs flashed.

  Shoving her glasses firmly back up her nose, Layla swiveled her chair away from him and towards her computer screen, offense written in every rigid line of her body. “I’ve got work to do, Gethin. If you want it done, you really ought to leave. Now.” She glanced back at him, hoping he’d get the hint and leave her in peace.

  The blasted blood demon just smiled. “Check your inbox. I need to find a demon and I need him found by yesterday. Start now. Forget locating that human. I’ll dump that on someone else.”

  “I’ve already located the human, if the data you’re referring to was sent at three this morning.”

  She had the distinct pleasure of seeing genuine surprise flash across his face. “So fast? My goodness, Ms. Gills, you may just be worth the obscene paycheck I give you.”

  “As if you ever doubted it. Stop bothering me and I’d be even more productive. Then I’d be able to demand a raise.”

  “So that you could buy more asexual clothing and hair clips?”

  Her eyes widened. A freely given admission of guilt was too good to be true. “That was you then?

  With my clothes?”

  His face was inscrutable again. “Do your work, Ms. Gills. I’ll be back in here at eleven to make sure you’ve made headway. Until then, I’ll be in the basement.”

  Her stomach made a long, sickening turn. “I see.”

  “Do you want to watch?”

  “No!” It came out more vehemently than she’d intended it to.

  “No interest in seeing what happens to my enemies? What I do to those people who you locate? How long it takes them to crack, split open and spill out words faster than blood?” He loomed over her chair, gripping the armrests so hard she knew from experience that there would be dents in the metal. His voice was no longer playful or teasing. It was harsh, raw and powerful, and she could almost taste the blood he lusted after.

  The carved muscles underneath his shirt expanded as the bloodlust legendary to his kind took hold.

  Her breath quickened as her blood began to race, and she closed her eyes, struggling to out of the hypnotic trance he wove around her. This is how she’d ended up on his desk the last time, legs locked around his powerful waist as she dug her nails into the corded strength in his arms. Not again.

  “I’ve no interest in anything except being left alone.”

  He laughed sharply, relinquishing control of her body so abruptly she felt dizzy.

  “You say one thing, but your body says another.” He turned and headed towards the door as she did her best to not stare at the way his tailored suit hugged the contours of his behind. “By next month, Ms.

  9

  Gills, I promise I’ll have you naked and willing in my bed. With my fangs deep inside your femoral artery.

  Research that if you have free time.”

  She didn’t have to. The jolt of desire told her that she was just as sick as he was.

  Taking off her glasses, Layla rubbed the bridge of her nose as she sat back, exhausted. She had just finished the latest round of data memorization and needed a . Just two minutes. But a glance at the clock told her it was nearing eleven, and Gethin was nothing if not punctual. Sure enough, the elevator doors on the other side of the office slid open and he strode out, just as indifferent to the blood on his shirt as the others in the office were. She gave up pretending she was doing something and simply dropped her face in her hands, not looking up even when she heard her door open and shut.

  Her glasses fell with a clatter when Gethin dropped a folder stuffed with papers onto her desk.

  “These need to be filed.”

  Layla tried to keep the dismay off her face as she stood with the folder, but judging by the irritation on Gethin’s face, she’d failed.

  “Filing not good enough for the princess, Ms. Gills?” he taunted softly, taking a small step to bring his body close to hers. She looked up to meet his probing stare, hating how effortlessly dominant he was just by height alone. She could have sworn the heat of his body reached hers, and her blood began to race. She wondered if he was causing it—or if it was just her traitorous hormones.

  Filing was beneath her job level, but she’d have no qualms if it didn’t interfere with the time she needed to memorize the names and addresses she’d begun to decipher. But what could she do? “Certainly not,” she ground out, well aware that she was doing a piss-poor job of acting like it. “Is this the entire pile?”

  “Looks like it’ll take you two hours. I’ve got a meeting that should last around three hours.

  Afterwards I’ll have some more names for you to research. Now go.” His eyes became distant, as they always did when he spoke about his projects. Layla couldn’t help but wonder if after the attack it would be her name he’d be researching, her information he’d be uncovering. She d
ared not speculate how he’d kill her if he found her. Her body grew cold with sudden terror—he would surely torture her if he ever found out she was a spy, and she would be in the basement with him for more than a few hours. The worse the betrayal, the longer the time—and she’d heard rumors of it lasting weeks, months even, before he’d finish.

  “Very well, then.” She attempted to disguise her fear as impatience. Turning sharply on her heel, she headed out of her room, gripping the papers so hard that her knuckles turned white.

  She was excellent at hiding. Good at masking her true feelings. More than adequate in the detective work he asked her to do. But it had been frightening how quickly he located the people he wanted on those rare times she’d been unable to uncover names and he’d taken on the project himself. It was terrifying to see their names in the papers afterwards, headlines announcing yet another mysterious—and at times downright gruesome—assassination.

  10

  She tried not to think about the vital role she played in their deaths. Her brother’s life was at stake, and given that Gethin’s assassinations more often than not tended to be big, bad demons and corrupted humans, she could even say they deserved it. But sometimes…sometimes it wasn’t enough. Even though she knew it would have happened without her, all too often she felt as though she’d pulled the trigger herself.

  But the names she’d uncovered from the decoded files—there was no way she could possibly memorize them all. How many had the air demons been expecting? Twenty? Fifty? There were hundreds upon hundreds, with more coming each day. Names of people, companies, nicknames, locations. She was expected to memorize them all. She’d need days, and the air demons had given her five weeks, tops. She’d already used up over four of them.

  If his meeting would last three hours she needed to finish the filing in record time so she could memorize, memorize, memorize before he got back.