Ana DeLacrux was a pro at masking her true emotions. In the three hundred years she’d been alive, or rather, undead, she’d picked up a thing or two. Amongst them, never show surprise or emotion.
Sometimes it was the only thing that kept you alive.
Sometimes it was the only thing that kept you sane.
Declan O’Hara was a problem she’d not seen coming, and though her facade was one of cool indifference, anger even, inside she was a mess.
She felt her barriers sliding away, and the fear that accompanied such a loss of control was nearly paralyzing.
She couldn’t go there. Not again. Feelings were something she’d never been good at navigating, especially when it came to the Irishman.
“Who are you?”
He was pissed and yet his voice was still the same, a bit of rasp, a touch of lilt, and a timbre that tore at her heartstrings.
In the space of a few seconds her mind whirled in what felt like a thousand different directions.
The fact that Declan O’Hara was here in New Orleans, with his ass parked in front of her home, was not good. It meant that he’d been sent by the Seraphim. She stared at Declan, her face stone cold.
They were actively hunting Kaden.
Why the hell hadn’t she been warned? Jesus fuck. She gritted her teeth as she stared at the tall Irishman. She was so gonna kick Bill’s ass the next time she saw him. Roly-Poly wasn’t going to know what the hell hit him. He should have told her O’Hara was after the boy.
He should have told her the chance of a face-to-face was pretty damn imminent.
She’d warned Bill after that last time. Seeing Declan the year before, in the arms of some strumpet, and not being able to reveal herself to him had nearly killed her. Again.
Ana hissed and closed her mind to anything other than her job—protecting Kaden. If it meant hurting the man in front of her, so be it. It’s not like she had much choice. No one could be trusted, and with the stakes this high . . .
At his refusal to leave her fangs slid out and she rushed forward, her body moving at a preternatural speed that most wouldn’t be able to evade.
Except Declan O’Hara wasn’t like most others. He was fast and she felt the heat of his power slide by, barely missing her left shoulder.
“Motherfu—” she yelped as another energy blast flew past, this time searing her flesh.
A grimace slid over her face. Things were going to get ugly.
She flipped in the air and landed just behind him, whirling around, and her hand jerked out as she shot a quick jab at his lower back. When in doubt, aim for a kidney.
Declan swore as she made contact and stumbled forward, but then recovered and kicked out to the side, his booted foot colliding with her midsection and sending her flying backward.
She heard him curse a string of foulness and rolled to the side as she went down, barely avoiding another energy blast.
She was up in an instant and stared at Declan, chest heaving, feeling strangely exhilarated at this dance. Her tongue ran along the edges of her fangs and she arched a brow. “What happened to never hitting a lady?”
“I don’t see a lady anywhere. Only a vampire ramped up on crazy.” Declan’s eyes narrowed into twin slits of darkness and she saw the way the air around him shimmered. He’d been different two years ago, when he’d come back from Hell. She knew then he’d fed from a dark power. One that had changed him.
It made his blood all the more intoxicating. He was otherworld—his blood was naturally infused with heavy magick—but coupled with the darkness from below, it must be potent. Her mouth watered at the thought.
He smiled at her though his eyes remained flat. He cocked his head to the side. “Are you going to tell me who or what the hell you are?”
Ana snarled and shook her head, waiting for the perfect moment, and then she sprang forward, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she took him down, hard.
They rolled together, his body pinned tight to hers, and she grunted loudly as her head connected with the iron fence that bordered her home. She felt his hand against her stomach while the other went for her throat.
Declan’s fingers burned hot—the energy licked her skin and the pain that radiated out from them was substantial. That—the pain—she could handle, but having him so close, feeling his flesh against hers, brought up all sorts of stuff she didn’t have time to deal with.
The smell of his blood drove her insane. It had been one of the reasons she’d always kept her distance from Declan.