Free Immortals 10 - Demon From The Dark by Kresley Cole

weapon into the brush behind her, the attacker plowed into the clearing.
                Carrow craned her head up. And up ... She lost her breath.
                The being's body was nearly seven feet tall and splashed with blood. Large horns curved back from above his ears. His lips were parted, exposing upper and lower fangs. Another demon.
                And, gods, this one was big. His broad chest and brawny arms were covered in a mesh chainmail shirt, his muscles rippling with strength under the metal. He was clad in leather pants, and they too were spattered in crimson. His long hair was tangled around those horns and hung over his dirty face. A sparse beard covered his cheeks.
                Surely, this couldn't be ... him. Her target. Nothing about his appearance indicated vampirism. Please don't let it be him.
                When their eyes met, she gasped. His irises were a light blue, as described in the dossier. Severely disturbed? Violently territorial? Affirmative.
                The blue flickered, turning blacker by the second, usually a sign of lust or rage in a demon. Neither boded well for her.
                Just as she studied his appearance, his gaze raked over her body, over her hiked-up skirt and bared thighs. At once, his horns straightened and flared back, signaling his attraction to her.
                When he raised his face, his eyes narrowed, as if with recognition. He clenched his hands into meaty fists, then opened them, splaying his claw-tipped fingers. Again and again he made fists, then released them, like he missed something he'd long held on to.
                His shaft was hardening--impossible to miss that. When he sucked in ragged breaths, grasping at his chest, a ridiculous suspicion arose, but she tamped it down.
                This demon looked to be on the razor's edge of lust. For all Carrow knew, he'd been out in this wasteland for centuries without a woman, as hard up as Asmodel.
                And if she didn't figure out a way around it, this one was about to be on top of her, his hulking body heaving over her.
                "I-I'm asking you not to hurt me," she said, studying his expression. His harsh face evinced nothing, no comprehension of her words. So no English. Trothan native? Check. His only reaction was an ever-growing erection.
                Just as she'd begun to suspect he was beyond any communication, he slammed a fist over his chest, then pointed at her, rasping something that sounded like "Ara." His voice was rough, as if it'd been dragged over gravel.
                When he stalked closer, she spied a tattoo, a large one that looked like black flames licking up his side--his right side.
                Hekate help her, this was Carrow's target, Malkom Slaine. And the Order had been woefully mistaken. There'd be no coaxing him anywhere.
                Change of plans. She wasn't going to lead him to the portal. She was going to lug his unconscious body there. After repeatedly stabbing him.
                But for her plan to work, she needed him to charge her, to fall upon her. Mentally steeling herself, she motioned for him, crooking a finger.
                His eyes briefly widened, but he didn't speed up his approach.
                Damn it, Slaine! Charge me!

     

Chapter 6
     
     
                Malkom had never been so astounded in his everlasting life.
                On his way down the mountain, he'd caught this female's exquisite scent and had recognized what she was to him--the woman he'd never expected for himself.
                With his horns flaring and his loins stirring to mate her, he'd leapt down from on high, then torn through the bone forest. But as he'd closed in on her, he'd also scented the demons surrounding her. While he'd slaughtered them,