Hour of the Dragon - Heather Killough-Walden Page 0,173

of a punch in that respect; like a protein shake versus mashed potatoes and gravy.

As he kissed her, Sterling realized Piper Maddox was a fucking banquet. He was afforded a small but rich taste of all she had to offer him. There was no time for anything more.

But this was enough.

With regret he hadn’t felt since he’d been with Annaleia, the Nightmare Warlock broke his kiss and peered down at the woman in his arms. Piper’s eyes were closed, her lips plump and red from his kiss, her hair whipping around them both as he stared down at her. He brushed his thumb gently over her lower lip just before his head snapped up to the sound of Carmen Seville calling out a familiar name.

“Anna!” she cried.

Sterling carefully released Piper and turned on his side, lifting himself to his feet. Across the room, Randall Price was just straightening from where he’d retrieved his discarded knife. Damn, thought Jarrod. That’s on me.

Between Price and Carmen stood Annaleia, once more in human form, albeit draconic human. She was dressed in charcoal gray leather from motorcycle jacket and gloves to motorcycle boots, the entire ensemble sporting a subtle purple gradient. Her long, beautiful hair was more wild than it had ever been. Electricity rode along the surface of her skin like St. Elmo’s Fire, honest-to-goodness purple lightning born of the storm within and ignited by the storm without. But it was her eyes that were the most striking. They glowed bright with that electric power, that innate change, and her beautiful white teeth now bore fangs. They were bared; she was ready for a fight.

Sterling could imagine what had just gone down. Anna had shifted to her human form, Carmen had rushed to meet her and most likely hug her, Randall Price had appeared from the shadows, and Carmen had called out a warning to her friend.

Price’s expression was one of disappointed resolve. Sterling had seen that expression before. It was the “If I can’t have you, no one will” look – but at this point, Sterling was almost hoping Price would try. Annaleia Faith was not the Withered angel of resurrection she’d once been. And there were just too many delicious ways in which she could illustrate as much to Price.

But he would have to touch her for that. And whether Anna was mated to someone else or not, Sterling would always care for her. Allowing her to come into physical contact with the serial killer again was something he simply couldn’t stomach. So he straightened and rolled back his shoulders, delightfully surprised at how much strength a single kiss had elicited him.

He glanced down at Piper a final, grateful time as she rose to her feet behind him, and then he raised his hand palm-out toward Price with the intent of blasting him out of existence.

“No, Sterling.”

The incubus warlock flinched and hesitated. It had been Annaleia speaking. She’d done so without taking her eyes off Price as if she could sense his intent behind her. Her voice boomed throughout the destroyed space, so powerful that the concrete flooring beneath Jarrod’s feet vibrated, sending rubble skittering.

“He’s mine,” she said.

For his part, Randall Price narrowed his gaze and all hint of residual lust for Annaleia that he may have been experiencing moments before dissipated, leaving a mask of sheer determination and betrayal-heavy hatred. “You sure about that, angel?” Price asked conversationally. “You don’t want to leave me for your boyfriend to rip to shreds?” Randall pretended to look around. “Where is the bully, anyway? Frankly, I’m surprised he’s letting you fight all on your own.”

“He’s busy dealing with your boyfriend,” Annaleia said with a beautiful fang-filled grin.

Sterling almost laughed. Except that Price’s chin lifted then, his green eyes glinted behind his glasses, and a bit of that lust was back. Price smiled. “He’s wasting his time.” Then he laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. “Hasn’t he learned he can’t face Maze alone?”

But Annaleia wasn’t fazed. She tilted her head slightly to the side, lightning cascaded across the sky, and she said, “He’s not alone.”

Price blinked, his smug expression slipping as his brow furrowed slightly. His gaze became calculating as it slid from Annaleia to Carmen to Piper, and finally to Sterling. He looked back at Anna and took a breath as if preparing to monologue in order to buy himself time to execute whatever sick plan he was concocting.

But before he could speak a single word, Annaleia raised her arm toward him, and neon