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Synopsis
They're here.
They ride.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Born of a match between good and evil, four siblings stand between hell's minions and everything they want to destroy. They are the Lords of Deliverance, and they have the power to ward off Doomsday . . . or let it ride . . .
ROGUE RIDER
Jillian Cardiff came to this remote mountain town to forget the demon attack that almost killed her. Instead, she rescues-and falls for-a gorgeous stranger who has no memory of anything other than his name. Handsome, charming, and protective, Reseph seems like the kind of man whom Jillian can trust. But with hints of a troubling history of his own, he's also the kind of man who can be very dangerous . . .
Reseph may not know why he mysteriously appeared in Jillian's life, but he knows he wants to stay. Yet when Jillian's neighbors are killed, and demon hunters arrive on the scene, Reseph fears that he's putting Jillian in danger. And once it's revealed that Reseph is also Pestilence, the Horseman responsible for ravaging the world, he and Jillian must face the greatest challenge of all: Can they forget the horrors of a chilling past to save the future they both desire?
Release date: November 20, 2012
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 432
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Rogue Rider
Larissa Ione
“Gifted storyteller Ione’s tales are gripping and dark, filled with tragedy and hope. Transfixing!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Ione’s third Lords of Deliverance paranormal builds the secondary story line of Immortal Rider into a rollicking ride of thrills, angst, and sexual heat… Ione humanizes her leads and also captures the urgency of their mission, resulting in a very satisfying read.”
—Publishers Weekly
“5 stars! Larissa immediately grabs our attention right from the first sentence and never lets go—we’re hers, or rather, we’re the horsemen’s… a full-out action-packed, rollercoaster of a ride… The world Ms. Ione has created is extraordinary and brilliant… Just a wonderful story that knocked my socks off… Thank goodness this isn’t the last book of the series or I’d be beside myself. If you’ve been on the fence about reading this series, get off and start reading!”
—SeducedbyaBook.com
“The explosive third installment of Larissa Ione’s dark, dangerous, and sinfully sexy Lords of Deliverance series, a true paranormal romance that delivers well-crafted characters, devious plot lines, and engaging dialogue. I love the balance between the sexy romance and the heart-pounding action—though you know your happy ending is coming, the path there is fraught with peril and pain.”
—HeroesandHeartbreakers.com
“Provides a thrilling ride for readers… Ione balances all the angst with plenty of action, sexual tension, and dark humor.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Ione plunges readers back into her creative, dark, sensual, and violent world without missing a step… a fast-paced, multilayered story with all the ingredients that fans of Ione’s wicked, sexy, dark paranormal romances have come to expect… Larissa Ione’s acerbic wit, imaginative, vivid world, and larger-than-life überalpha heroes make for a thrilling, fun, paranormal romp. I’ve read a number of awesome books this year, but I have to say Immortal Rider is my favorite of 2011.”
—USAToday.com
“Gritty… Twisted family dynamics and treachery play out on a global scale in this hard-edged yet sexy adventure. Ione’s worlds are always complex and darkly tinged. Intense to the max!”
—RT Book Reviews
“5 stars! Larissa’s world-building skills are off the charts with this series… engaging… sizzling… highly entertaining… a wonderful blend of romance, action, and drama.”
—SeducedbyaBook.com
“This is one of the best books Larissa has written to date. I’m shocked by the sheer wonder of it all… If you’re dying to get your hands on a great paranormal romance that has a few zingers and pushes the envelope, which Larissa has done, you need to read this book.”
—GoodReads.com
“Ione has the amazing ability to create intimidating, powerfully sexy, and utterly compelling heroes. And her heroines aren’t too shabby either! Love, hope, sin, redemption, and, of course, end-of-the-world danger fill the pages.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Totally captivating! Larissa Ione instantly pulls you into a demonic underworld with strong characters, hot, steaming sex, and fast-paced, suspenseful action.”
—FreshFiction.com
“4½ stars! Tense, sexy, and touching.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Some of the hottest [sex scenes] I’ve read in a paranormal romance. You can practically taste the desire… Sin Undone doesn’t disappoint and makes way for yet a new set of characters and books, in her soon-to-be-released Lords of Deliverance series.”
—FreshFiction.com
“4½ stars! Ione is a master worldbuilder, and one can’t help but fall headlong into this imaginative and compelling story.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Compulsively readable… this book was awesome.”
—LikesBooks.com
“Great… fast-paced… a strong tale that has the audience believing that demons and angels walk the earth.”
—Midwest Book Review
“4½ stars! The third book in Ione’s supercharged Demonica series ignites on the first page and never looks back… Adventure, action, and danger leap off every page. The best of the series to date!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Fast-paced from the onset and never slows down until the exhilarating climax… Readers will be enthralled by the action and the charmed lead couple.”
—Midwest Book Reviews
“4 stars! Rising star Ione is back in this latest Demonica novel… Ione has a true gift for imbuing her characters with dark-edged passion… thrilling action and treacherous vengeance… a top-notch read.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Warning! Read at your own risk. Highly addictive.”
—FreshFiction.com
“Sizzling sensuality, dark wit, and wicked hot demons.”
—Lara Adrian, New York Times bestselling author
“What a ride! Dark, sexy, and very intriguing, the book gripped me from start to finish—totally recommended.”
—Nalini Singh, New York Times bestselling author of Mine to Possess
“4 stars! [Ione’s] hard-edged style infuses the story with darkness while taking it to sizzling heights.”
—RT Book Reviews
The Aegis—Society of human warriors dedicated to protecting the world from evil. See: Guardians, Regent, Sigil.
Agimortus—A trigger for the breaking of a Horseman’s Seal. An agimortus can be identified as a symbol engraved or branded upon the host person or object. Three kinds of agimorti have been identified and may take the form of a person, an object, or an event.
Camborian—The human offspring of a parent under the possession of a demon at the time of conception. Camborians may or may not possess supernatural powers that vary in type and strength, depending on the species of demon inhabiting the body of the parent at the time of conception.
Daemonica—The demon bible and basis for dozens of demon religions. Its prophesies regarding the Apocalypse, should they come to pass, will ensure that the Four Horsemen fight on the side of evil.
Fallen Angel—Believed to be evil by most humans, fallen angels can be grouped into two categories: True Fallen and Unfallen. Unfallen angels have been cast from Heaven and are earthbound, living a life in which they are neither truly good nor truly evil. In this state, they can, rarely, earn their way back into Heaven. Or they can choose to enter Sheoul, the demon realm, in order to complete their fall and become True Fallens, taking their places as demons at Satan’s side.
Guardians—Warriors for The Aegis, trained in combat techniques, weapons, and magic. Upon induction into The Aegis, all Guardians are presented with an enchanted piece of jewelry bearing the Aegis shield, which, among other things, allows for night vision and the ability to see through demon invisibility enchantments.
Harrowgate—Vertical portals, invisible to humans, which demons use to travel between locations on Earth and Sheoul. A very few beings can summon their own personal Harrowgates.
Khote—An invisibility spell that allows the caster to move among humans without being seen or, usually, heard.
Marked Sentinel—A human charmed by angels and tasked with protecting a vital artifact. Sentinels are immortal and immune to harm. Only angels (fallen included) can injure or kill a Sentinel. Their existence is a closely guarded secret.
Quantamun—A state of superaccelerated existence on a plane that allows some supernatural beings to travel among humans. Humans, unaware of what moves within their world, appear frozen in time to those inside the quantamun. This differs from the khote in that the khote operates in real time and is a spell rather than a plane of existence.
Regent—Head(s) of local Aegis cells.
Sheoul—Demon realm. Located deep in the bowels of the Earth, accessible only by Harrowgates and hellmouths.
Sheoul-gra—A holding tank for demon souls. The place where demon souls go until they can be reborn or kept in torturous limbo.
Sheoulic—Universal demon language spoken by all, although many species also speak their own language.
Sigil—Board of twelve humans known as Elders, who serve as the supreme leaders of The Aegis. Based in Berlin, they oversee all Aegis cells worldwide.
Ter’taceo—Demons who can pass as human, either because their species is naturally human in appearance or because they can shape-shift into human form.
Watchers—Individuals assigned to keep an eye on the Four Horsemen. As part of the agreement forged during the original negotiations between angels and demons that led to Ares, Reseph, Limos, and Thanatos being cursed to spearhead the Apocalypse, one Watcher is an angel, the other is a fallen angel. Neither Watcher may directly assist any Horseman’s efforts to either start or stop Armageddon, but they can lend a hand behind the scenes. Doing so, however, may have them walking a fine line that, to cross, could prove worse than fatal.
It was cold. So fucking cold.
He opened his eyes, but he saw… nothing. Groaning, he shifted, because he seemed to be facedown. Yeah… he was doing a face-plant, all right. But where was he? All he could see was snow. No, that wasn’t true; he could see trees laden with snow. And snowbanks laden with snow. And snow laden with more fucking snow.
So he was in a forest… with snow. But where? Why?
And who the hell was he?
Reseph.
The name slurred through his ears as if uttered by a drunken man.
Reseph.
Sounded vaguely familiar, he supposed. Reseph. Okay, he could work with that. Especially since no other names popped into his head.
Weakly, he tried to push himself to his knees, but his arms wobbled like rubber, and he kept falling on his face. After four tries, he gave up and just lay there, panting and shivering.
Somewhere overhead, an owl hooted, and a few minutes later, a wolf howled into the growing darkness. Reseph took comfort in the sounds, because they meant he wasn’t alone. Sure, the owl might fly over and shit on him, and the wolf might eat him alive, but at least he’d have company for a little while.
He didn’t know much about himself, but he knew he didn’t like to be alone.
He also did not like snow.
Curious then, how he’d ended up alone in the snow. Had someone abandoned him here? A tremor of anxiety shook him on the inside as hard as the cold was shaking him on the outside. Surely someone was looking for him.
He held onto that hope as he gradually became aware of a gnawing ache in his bones, accompanied by a stabbing pain in his head. Looked like he was in for a little unconsciousness. Cool. Because right now, he was both freezing and burning up, hurting and numb. Yep, passing out would be a good thing.
Real. Fucking. Good.
Idiot. Dumbass. Meteorological moron.
Jillian Cardiff mentally cursed the meteorologist who screwed the pooch on the timing of this blizzard. She had nothing against weather people; hell, she’d worked with them for years in the FAA. But this… this was ridiculous.
Now she was in a rush to get back to her cabin before visibility went completely to shit and her draft horse, Sam, got testy.
“Come on, boy.” She gave the big sorrel an affectionate slap on the shoulder. “The rest of the firewood can wait.”
Sam followed her, not needing to be led by the rope snapped to his halter. He knew the way home and was as eager as she was to get inside a warm, cozy building. The sled carrying a quarter cord of firewood dragged behind him, cutting through the five feet of fresh snow they’d gotten a few days ago. This new storm would probably dump another couple of feet, and by the end of December they’d have more snow than they’d know what to do with.
The wind shrieked like a living thing, and snow blasted her face. Hefting her rifle more securely onto her shoulder, Jillian put her head down and pushed against the gale. Times like this, she really missed Florida. Not that she’d ever go back. Some things you just couldn’t forget.
Like being torn apart by demons.
She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. She was not going there again. The attack was behind her, and as long as she didn’t watch TV, get on the Internet, or look at her scars, she never had to think about it.
A long, mournful howl pierced the late afternoon darkness. Had to be close if she could hear it over the wind. Sam snorted and tossed his head, and she slowed to take the lead rope and give him a pat on his white-blazed nose.
“It’s okay, buddy. The wolves won’t bother us.” No, wolves generally left humans alone. If anything, cougars were the big concern. In recent weeks, two area hunters had been found torn to pieces, the carnage blamed on the big cats.
She could handle a cougar. What she couldn’t handle was the dark. Demons lurked in the dark.
Abruptly, Sam reared up, a desperate whinny breaking from his big chest. The rope jerked out of Jillian’s hand, and she nearly lost her footing in the icy snow as she scrambled to catch it. Sam’s front hooves hit the ground and his shoulder rammed her, sending her tumbling down an incline. Her yelp cut off as she slammed into a tree trunk.
Pain spiderwebbed around the right side of her rib cage, and ouch, that was going to be tender tomorrow.
“Dammit, Sam,” she muttered, as she crawled back up the snowy slope, pausing to grab the rifle that had been flung into a snowbank.
Sam was snorting, going nuts as he pawed at a snowdrift. Jillian dug ice from places ice shouldn’t be as she clomped through the snow, wondering what in the world had startled Sam and now had him so freaked out.
“You’d better be digging up a pot of gold, you mangy—” She broke off with a startled gasp.
A man… a naked man… his body facedown and covered in a dusting of snow, lay in a messy sprawl just off the trail.
“Oh, my God.” Her hands shook as she stripped off her glove and brushed aside his long, platinum hair to put her fingers to his throat. His skin was icy to the touch, which she expected, but when the steady thump of a pulse bounded against her fingertips, she nearly jumped out of her own skin. He was alive. With a strong pulse. Holy cow, how?
Okay, so… think. She had to get help, but they were in the middle of an intensifying snowstorm, and there was no way off the mountain except by snowmobile. She couldn’t risk that in the storm, and it could take hours to get to the nearest town. He could be dead by then.
Shit.
Praying this guy wasn’t a serial killer and trying not to think too hard on why he’d be in the mountains, naked, in the winter, she eased Sam up the trail until the sled was alongside the man’s body. As quickly as she could, she heaved the firewood to the other side of the path and tucked the ax into the loop on Sam’s padded harness.
Rolling the man onto the sled was not as easy as she’d hoped. The guy was heavy as a damned boulder and huge. And… handsome. And very, very naked.
“Really?” she muttered to herself. “You’re going to notice how hot he is now?”
Granted, it was impossible not to notice those things, but she still felt a little guilty as she ran her hands over him, checking for injuries. Aside from being unconscious and as frozen as a fish stick, he appeared to be uninjured.
Interesting horse tattoo on his right forearm, though. When she’d skimmed her fingers over it, she’d felt a dim vibration, as if the henna-colored lines pulsed with a mild electrical current. Too bad warmth didn’t ride in on that current, though, because damn, she swore the temperature plummeted twenty degrees in the few minutes it took to check the guy out.
As if Mother Nature had some sort of grudge against her, the biting cold wind picked up even more, and the snow, which she normally loved, became an enemy. It was probably stupid of her, but she stripped off her coat and laid it over the guy, tucking the coat’s sleeves carefully beneath him. The shirt layers she was wearing should protect her for a while, as long as they hurried.
“Let’s go, Sammy.” She urged the gelding to move faster than she’d normally like, but nothing about this situation was normal.
She was freezing and exhausted by the time she smelled the smoke from her wood stove, and her eyelashes were crusted with ice by the time she eased Sam up to the rickety porch. The frigid air burned her lungs with each breath as she dragged the man’s dead weight off the sled and then unhitched Sam. She’d remove the harness later. Right now she had to get the man into the house and the horse into the barn.
She ran the thirty yards to the barn and, battling the wind, tugged open the door. Sam trotted inside, but she didn’t bother taking him to his stall. He’d find it on his own.
Too bad getting the man to her bedroom wasn’t nearly as easy as putting up the horse. As a fitness freak who worked a small farm, Jillian wasn’t a wuss, but she thought she might have dislocated something as she dragged Fish Stick across the floor. She spent another ten minutes heaving and straining to lift him onto her bed.
Once he was sprawled out on his back, his broad shoulders taking up an enormous amount of room on the mattress, she cranked the electric blanket to the highest setting and checked his pulse. Still strong. Shouldn’t it be sluggish? She’d taken basic CPR classes as well as Search and Rescue training, and from what she remembered, hypothermia caused a slow, weak pulse. Fish Stick’s couldn’t be more opposite. Steady, surging, and she swore his skin had already pinked up a little.
Leaving the mystery alone for now, she checked the phone, and sure enough, it was dead. Next, she stoked the fire and turned up the electric heat to eighty degrees. She was lucky to have electricity at all, actually. The power kept flickering, and it was probably only a matter of time before it went the way of the phone line.
Ooh, and then she’d be alone, in the dark with no phone, in the middle of nowhere… with a stranger.
This was a horror movie setup. She even had the token small animal to prove the situation was serious and make all the women in the audience worry.
Her Bengal cat, Doodle, watched the activity from his bed in front of the wood stove, unconcerned that there was a strange man in the house. But then, nothing really fazed him. As long as he had food and someone to pet him, he didn’t bother to get excited about much.
“You’re a big help there, buddy.” She shot Doodle a dirty look as she changed into dry sweats and slippers. “I’m going to check on the complete stranger in my bed, but don’t worry about me, okay?”
Doodle blinked his green eyes at her.
Wishing she had a big dog right about now, Jillian slipped into the bedroom. As she entered, Fish Stick sighed and shifted in the bed, just the smallest movement, but enough to give her a bit of hope.
Then his eyes popped open.
Startled, she leaped back, slapping her hand over her mouth. His eyes… God, they were amazing. The lightest shade of blue, and crystal clear, like the edge of a shallow glacier. They bored into her, but there was nothing cold about them. The raw heat in them pierced her all the way to her core.
Feeling silly for her overreaction but with her legs trembling anyway, she returned to the bedside.
“I’m Jillian. I found you in the woods. You’re going to be okay.” She wasn’t sure if he understood or not, but his eyes closed, and his thickly muscled chest began to rise and fall in a deep, regular rhythm. His color was good now, and his full lips, once pale and chapped, were a smooth, dusky rose.
Remarkable.
What now? Maybe she should get something hot into his stomach. Quietly, she started for the door to put some broth on the stove.
“Hey,” he rasped, his voice a broken whisper. “Did I… hurt you?”
She inhaled sharply and turned, risking a look at him. Once again, his eyes drilled into her, but this time, they seemed to… glow a little.
“No.” She swallowed dryly. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”
His long, golden lashes fluttered down, as if he was satisfied by her answer. But dear God, why would he think he might have hurt her?
Who the hell had she brought into her house?
Fish Stick didn’t wake up again for a full twenty-four hours.
When he did, it was only long enough to drink a cup of hot beef broth. He hadn’t said a word, had merely stared at her with those gorgeous blue eyes and then fallen back into a deep sleep, as if he’d been awake for a year.
Jillian had tried to call Stacey, a local sheriff’s deputy and her best friend of twenty years, but the phone lines were still down. Figured. The storm seemed to have stalled, and Jillian decided she was going to hunt down that meteorologist and beat him with his own anemometer.
Doodle had taken to the stranger, and if the cat wasn’t eating or chasing one of his toys, he was curled up on the bed. The little traitor.
At the forty-six-hour mark, Jillian went to check on Fish Stick, her heart doing a crazy little skip when she saw him sprawled in her queen-sized bed, taking up the whole thing. For some reason, her thoughts went to what he’d do with a woman in it. Someone his size needed a king mattress, especially if he had… company.
Stop it. Why in the world was she thinking like that about a total stranger whose name she didn’t even know? Maybe because, even in his sleep, he exuded power, an off-the-charts masculinity that made every female hormone quiver.
Stop. It.
The covers had slipped low on his hips, revealing hard-cut lower abs and sinewy obliques that disappeared under the sheet. Just one inch lower, and there would be nothing left to the imagination. She’d gotten a good look when she’d brought him in, but now that his skin had color in it again, he was a totally different man. Before, he’d been like a marble statue, weak as a baby. Now… oh, boy.
His hair, a thick, long mane of white gold, had been hopelessly matted. A couple of times she caught him growling in his sleep and tearing at it, so she hoped he wouldn’t mind that she’d sort of… cut it.
She’d left it as long as she could, but the shoulder-length cut was still a good twelve inches shorter than it had been.
Now it spilled over the red flannel pillowcase like spun silk, and really, it was so not fair that a man had better hair than she did. Better hair and eyelashes. Dammit, women paid to get lashes as long and thick as his.
“This is getting ridiculous,” she muttered, as she sank onto the mattress beside him. He’s just a man. A man who appeared to be in his late twenties and gifted with a freakishly perfect body.
She palmed his forehead, relieved to find that he was neither feverish nor cold.
She reached for the covers to tug them up when suddenly, in an impossibly fast movement, he grabbed her, whipped her roughly beneath him, and slammed his forearm across her throat. Fear spiked, sharp and biting. Under his weight, she could barely move, and with his arm on her windpipe, she could barely breathe.
His eyes were shards of winter ice as they bored into her, and she immediately reevaluated her estimate of his age. He might look to be no more than twenty-eight, but his eyes… they were ancient.
“Who are you?” he growled. “Where am I?”
“I—” She coughed, trying to suck air into her burning lungs. He let up on her throat. A little. “I’m Jillian.” She gulped a breath. “You’re in my house.”
His gaze narrowed, and she felt like a deer pinned by a wolf. “Why?”
“I found you,” she rasped. “In the snow. You were almost dead.”
He frowned. “That’s impossible.”
“That you were almost dead or that you were in the snow?”
Confusion flashed in his eyes, and he let up on the pressure a little more. “I’m not sure.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, not wanting to agitate him again. “Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name?”
“I think… I think it’s Reseph.”
“You think?”
The pressure on her throat lessened to almost nothing, but each breath still burned. “Reseph is the only name that comes to me.”
He wasn’t sure about his own name? And what an odd name it was. His deep, resonant voice did have the slightest accent, though. Not that she could identify it. “Do you know where you’re from?”
“No idea. I can’t remember… anything.” He pushed up, his shoulders and biceps flexing with power, and looked down at his naked body. “Did we fuck?”
She nearly choked. “No.”
“Why not?” He eased back down on top of her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. This time she felt the distinct presence of an erection settling against her pelvis. The buzz in the very air around him shifted suddenly from menacing to blatantly erotic, but no less dangerous.
Oh, God. “Because we’re complete strangers.”
He lifted his head. “So?”
So? This was not going well. “Look, maybe you should, ah, get off me, and we’ll discuss everything over dinner.”
“Dinner?” He grinned, and good Lord, he was stunning when he wasn’t scaring her half to death. “Totally on board with that. I’m starving. Maybe we could fuck first?”
This time she did choke. “Sex is not on the table. But chili is.”
“You can have sex on tables,” he said, and great, she was now picturing doing things in the kitchen that had nothing to do with eating. At least, not eating food.
“Chili,” she croaked. “No sex.”
He appeared to consider that, and she nearly passed out from relief when he rolled off her. “Okay, so where’s the food?”
“Kitchen.” She leaped off the bed, ignoring his amused grin and trying not to look at his erection… his very nice erection… which he wasn’t making any effort to cover up.
Nope, he lay on his back, legs spread, one arm behind his head as if he was in his house, in his bed, and she was merely the date he’d invited home last night.
Again, she wondered just who she’d brought into her house, because this guy was not flying with a full crew. Definitely not right in the head.
Averting her gaze, she backed toward the door. “I’m going to see if I can find you something to wear. Feel free to use the shower—”
He was already halfway to the tiny master bathroom. Despite her annoyance, she couldn’t peel her eyes away from his body as he strode across the wood floor. Every muscle was a fluid work of art as they powered his strides, bunching and rippling. And that ass… sweet Jesus, he had the nicest set of glutes she’d ever seen.
He disappeared into the bathroom, and she swore the last flex of his butt muscles was just for her. Oh, this guy had to go.
While he showered, she headed to the kitchen to stir the Crock-Pot of chili before taking the stairs down to the cellar. Half of the underground space was dedicated to food storage, but the other half was piled high with the remnants of her life in Florida, and with huge Rubbermaid containers of Christmas ornaments and things that had belonged to her parents.
She hadn’t been through any of this stuff since she moved here, and she cursed her misty eyes as she pawed through one of the plastic tubs of her parents’ clothing. Every shirt brought back a memory, every pair of shoes a story.
Just grab something and get it over with.
Jillian wasn’t sure “grabbing something” would be adequate. Although her father had been a tall man, there was nothing of his that would fit Reseph well. She supposed he’d have to make do with the forest green flannel pajama bottoms and the oversized black sweatshirt.
Glad to be done digging through memories, she trudged back up the stairs and nearly swallowed her tongue when she stepped into the kitchen at the same time that Reseph sauntered in.
Completely naked.
“Um… you couldn’t find a towel?”
He looked down at himself. “I found a towel. I’m dry.”
The man apparently had absolutely no inhibitions. “Right. Silly me.” She shoved the clothes at him. “Do you think you hit your head?”
“Might be why my memory is gone,” he said, and okay, sure, that might explain the amnesia, but that wasn’t what she’d been getting at.
While he dressed… reluctantly, it seemed… she spooned chili into bowls. As she reached into a drawer for spoons, she sensed a presence behind her. Reseph’s warmth engulfed her as he peered over her shoulder.
“Looks good.”
So Reseph had no inhibitions and no concept of personal space. At least he’d put the clothes on.
“It is good,” she said, scooting out from under his shadow. “It’s my mom’s recipe.” She placed the bowls on the table—opposite ends.
“I wonder if I have a mom.” There was a thread of… sadness?… fear?… worry?… in his voice. Maybe it was a mix of all three.
She could only guess at how she’d feel if she woke up in a strange place with no memory of how she got there or who she was. The idea that there was a family out there who might be looking for him—including, maybe, a wife—had to be unsettling.
Especially since he’d wanted sex from a complete stranger. Jillian hoped to hell he wasn’t married.
“Let’s get some food in you, and we’ll see what we can figure out.” She opened the fridge. “I have milk, water, orange juice, Sprite—”
“Beer?”
“Sorry. Out of beer.” She liked a cold one now and then, but it just wasn’t a winter drink.
“Chili without beer is a crime in some places,” Reseph said. “Well, it should be. Sprite, please.”
She grabbed two cans and two glasses, and when she turned around, Reseph was seated. But he’d moved his bowl to a seat closer to hers. She sighed. Her mom would have said he needed to be house-trained.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“It’s just chili.”
He
—RT Book Reviews
“Ione’s third Lords of Deliverance paranormal builds the secondary story line of Immortal Rider into a rollicking ride of thrills, angst, and sexual heat… Ione humanizes her leads and also captures the urgency of their mission, resulting in a very satisfying read.”
—Publishers Weekly
“5 stars! Larissa immediately grabs our attention right from the first sentence and never lets go—we’re hers, or rather, we’re the horsemen’s… a full-out action-packed, rollercoaster of a ride… The world Ms. Ione has created is extraordinary and brilliant… Just a wonderful story that knocked my socks off… Thank goodness this isn’t the last book of the series or I’d be beside myself. If you’ve been on the fence about reading this series, get off and start reading!”
—SeducedbyaBook.com
“The explosive third installment of Larissa Ione’s dark, dangerous, and sinfully sexy Lords of Deliverance series, a true paranormal romance that delivers well-crafted characters, devious plot lines, and engaging dialogue. I love the balance between the sexy romance and the heart-pounding action—though you know your happy ending is coming, the path there is fraught with peril and pain.”
—HeroesandHeartbreakers.com
“Provides a thrilling ride for readers… Ione balances all the angst with plenty of action, sexual tension, and dark humor.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Ione plunges readers back into her creative, dark, sensual, and violent world without missing a step… a fast-paced, multilayered story with all the ingredients that fans of Ione’s wicked, sexy, dark paranormal romances have come to expect… Larissa Ione’s acerbic wit, imaginative, vivid world, and larger-than-life überalpha heroes make for a thrilling, fun, paranormal romp. I’ve read a number of awesome books this year, but I have to say Immortal Rider is my favorite of 2011.”
—USAToday.com
“Gritty… Twisted family dynamics and treachery play out on a global scale in this hard-edged yet sexy adventure. Ione’s worlds are always complex and darkly tinged. Intense to the max!”
—RT Book Reviews
“5 stars! Larissa’s world-building skills are off the charts with this series… engaging… sizzling… highly entertaining… a wonderful blend of romance, action, and drama.”
—SeducedbyaBook.com
“This is one of the best books Larissa has written to date. I’m shocked by the sheer wonder of it all… If you’re dying to get your hands on a great paranormal romance that has a few zingers and pushes the envelope, which Larissa has done, you need to read this book.”
—GoodReads.com
“Ione has the amazing ability to create intimidating, powerfully sexy, and utterly compelling heroes. And her heroines aren’t too shabby either! Love, hope, sin, redemption, and, of course, end-of-the-world danger fill the pages.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Totally captivating! Larissa Ione instantly pulls you into a demonic underworld with strong characters, hot, steaming sex, and fast-paced, suspenseful action.”
—FreshFiction.com
“4½ stars! Tense, sexy, and touching.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Some of the hottest [sex scenes] I’ve read in a paranormal romance. You can practically taste the desire… Sin Undone doesn’t disappoint and makes way for yet a new set of characters and books, in her soon-to-be-released Lords of Deliverance series.”
—FreshFiction.com
“4½ stars! Ione is a master worldbuilder, and one can’t help but fall headlong into this imaginative and compelling story.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Compulsively readable… this book was awesome.”
—LikesBooks.com
“Great… fast-paced… a strong tale that has the audience believing that demons and angels walk the earth.”
—Midwest Book Review
“4½ stars! The third book in Ione’s supercharged Demonica series ignites on the first page and never looks back… Adventure, action, and danger leap off every page. The best of the series to date!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Fast-paced from the onset and never slows down until the exhilarating climax… Readers will be enthralled by the action and the charmed lead couple.”
—Midwest Book Reviews
“4 stars! Rising star Ione is back in this latest Demonica novel… Ione has a true gift for imbuing her characters with dark-edged passion… thrilling action and treacherous vengeance… a top-notch read.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Warning! Read at your own risk. Highly addictive.”
—FreshFiction.com
“Sizzling sensuality, dark wit, and wicked hot demons.”
—Lara Adrian, New York Times bestselling author
“What a ride! Dark, sexy, and very intriguing, the book gripped me from start to finish—totally recommended.”
—Nalini Singh, New York Times bestselling author of Mine to Possess
“4 stars! [Ione’s] hard-edged style infuses the story with darkness while taking it to sizzling heights.”
—RT Book Reviews
The Aegis—Society of human warriors dedicated to protecting the world from evil. See: Guardians, Regent, Sigil.
Agimortus—A trigger for the breaking of a Horseman’s Seal. An agimortus can be identified as a symbol engraved or branded upon the host person or object. Three kinds of agimorti have been identified and may take the form of a person, an object, or an event.
Camborian—The human offspring of a parent under the possession of a demon at the time of conception. Camborians may or may not possess supernatural powers that vary in type and strength, depending on the species of demon inhabiting the body of the parent at the time of conception.
Daemonica—The demon bible and basis for dozens of demon religions. Its prophesies regarding the Apocalypse, should they come to pass, will ensure that the Four Horsemen fight on the side of evil.
Fallen Angel—Believed to be evil by most humans, fallen angels can be grouped into two categories: True Fallen and Unfallen. Unfallen angels have been cast from Heaven and are earthbound, living a life in which they are neither truly good nor truly evil. In this state, they can, rarely, earn their way back into Heaven. Or they can choose to enter Sheoul, the demon realm, in order to complete their fall and become True Fallens, taking their places as demons at Satan’s side.
Guardians—Warriors for The Aegis, trained in combat techniques, weapons, and magic. Upon induction into The Aegis, all Guardians are presented with an enchanted piece of jewelry bearing the Aegis shield, which, among other things, allows for night vision and the ability to see through demon invisibility enchantments.
Harrowgate—Vertical portals, invisible to humans, which demons use to travel between locations on Earth and Sheoul. A very few beings can summon their own personal Harrowgates.
Khote—An invisibility spell that allows the caster to move among humans without being seen or, usually, heard.
Marked Sentinel—A human charmed by angels and tasked with protecting a vital artifact. Sentinels are immortal and immune to harm. Only angels (fallen included) can injure or kill a Sentinel. Their existence is a closely guarded secret.
Quantamun—A state of superaccelerated existence on a plane that allows some supernatural beings to travel among humans. Humans, unaware of what moves within their world, appear frozen in time to those inside the quantamun. This differs from the khote in that the khote operates in real time and is a spell rather than a plane of existence.
Regent—Head(s) of local Aegis cells.
Sheoul—Demon realm. Located deep in the bowels of the Earth, accessible only by Harrowgates and hellmouths.
Sheoul-gra—A holding tank for demon souls. The place where demon souls go until they can be reborn or kept in torturous limbo.
Sheoulic—Universal demon language spoken by all, although many species also speak their own language.
Sigil—Board of twelve humans known as Elders, who serve as the supreme leaders of The Aegis. Based in Berlin, they oversee all Aegis cells worldwide.
Ter’taceo—Demons who can pass as human, either because their species is naturally human in appearance or because they can shape-shift into human form.
Watchers—Individuals assigned to keep an eye on the Four Horsemen. As part of the agreement forged during the original negotiations between angels and demons that led to Ares, Reseph, Limos, and Thanatos being cursed to spearhead the Apocalypse, one Watcher is an angel, the other is a fallen angel. Neither Watcher may directly assist any Horseman’s efforts to either start or stop Armageddon, but they can lend a hand behind the scenes. Doing so, however, may have them walking a fine line that, to cross, could prove worse than fatal.
It was cold. So fucking cold.
He opened his eyes, but he saw… nothing. Groaning, he shifted, because he seemed to be facedown. Yeah… he was doing a face-plant, all right. But where was he? All he could see was snow. No, that wasn’t true; he could see trees laden with snow. And snowbanks laden with snow. And snow laden with more fucking snow.
So he was in a forest… with snow. But where? Why?
And who the hell was he?
Reseph.
The name slurred through his ears as if uttered by a drunken man.
Reseph.
Sounded vaguely familiar, he supposed. Reseph. Okay, he could work with that. Especially since no other names popped into his head.
Weakly, he tried to push himself to his knees, but his arms wobbled like rubber, and he kept falling on his face. After four tries, he gave up and just lay there, panting and shivering.
Somewhere overhead, an owl hooted, and a few minutes later, a wolf howled into the growing darkness. Reseph took comfort in the sounds, because they meant he wasn’t alone. Sure, the owl might fly over and shit on him, and the wolf might eat him alive, but at least he’d have company for a little while.
He didn’t know much about himself, but he knew he didn’t like to be alone.
He also did not like snow.
Curious then, how he’d ended up alone in the snow. Had someone abandoned him here? A tremor of anxiety shook him on the inside as hard as the cold was shaking him on the outside. Surely someone was looking for him.
He held onto that hope as he gradually became aware of a gnawing ache in his bones, accompanied by a stabbing pain in his head. Looked like he was in for a little unconsciousness. Cool. Because right now, he was both freezing and burning up, hurting and numb. Yep, passing out would be a good thing.
Real. Fucking. Good.
Idiot. Dumbass. Meteorological moron.
Jillian Cardiff mentally cursed the meteorologist who screwed the pooch on the timing of this blizzard. She had nothing against weather people; hell, she’d worked with them for years in the FAA. But this… this was ridiculous.
Now she was in a rush to get back to her cabin before visibility went completely to shit and her draft horse, Sam, got testy.
“Come on, boy.” She gave the big sorrel an affectionate slap on the shoulder. “The rest of the firewood can wait.”
Sam followed her, not needing to be led by the rope snapped to his halter. He knew the way home and was as eager as she was to get inside a warm, cozy building. The sled carrying a quarter cord of firewood dragged behind him, cutting through the five feet of fresh snow they’d gotten a few days ago. This new storm would probably dump another couple of feet, and by the end of December they’d have more snow than they’d know what to do with.
The wind shrieked like a living thing, and snow blasted her face. Hefting her rifle more securely onto her shoulder, Jillian put her head down and pushed against the gale. Times like this, she really missed Florida. Not that she’d ever go back. Some things you just couldn’t forget.
Like being torn apart by demons.
She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. She was not going there again. The attack was behind her, and as long as she didn’t watch TV, get on the Internet, or look at her scars, she never had to think about it.
A long, mournful howl pierced the late afternoon darkness. Had to be close if she could hear it over the wind. Sam snorted and tossed his head, and she slowed to take the lead rope and give him a pat on his white-blazed nose.
“It’s okay, buddy. The wolves won’t bother us.” No, wolves generally left humans alone. If anything, cougars were the big concern. In recent weeks, two area hunters had been found torn to pieces, the carnage blamed on the big cats.
She could handle a cougar. What she couldn’t handle was the dark. Demons lurked in the dark.
Abruptly, Sam reared up, a desperate whinny breaking from his big chest. The rope jerked out of Jillian’s hand, and she nearly lost her footing in the icy snow as she scrambled to catch it. Sam’s front hooves hit the ground and his shoulder rammed her, sending her tumbling down an incline. Her yelp cut off as she slammed into a tree trunk.
Pain spiderwebbed around the right side of her rib cage, and ouch, that was going to be tender tomorrow.
“Dammit, Sam,” she muttered, as she crawled back up the snowy slope, pausing to grab the rifle that had been flung into a snowbank.
Sam was snorting, going nuts as he pawed at a snowdrift. Jillian dug ice from places ice shouldn’t be as she clomped through the snow, wondering what in the world had startled Sam and now had him so freaked out.
“You’d better be digging up a pot of gold, you mangy—” She broke off with a startled gasp.
A man… a naked man… his body facedown and covered in a dusting of snow, lay in a messy sprawl just off the trail.
“Oh, my God.” Her hands shook as she stripped off her glove and brushed aside his long, platinum hair to put her fingers to his throat. His skin was icy to the touch, which she expected, but when the steady thump of a pulse bounded against her fingertips, she nearly jumped out of her own skin. He was alive. With a strong pulse. Holy cow, how?
Okay, so… think. She had to get help, but they were in the middle of an intensifying snowstorm, and there was no way off the mountain except by snowmobile. She couldn’t risk that in the storm, and it could take hours to get to the nearest town. He could be dead by then.
Shit.
Praying this guy wasn’t a serial killer and trying not to think too hard on why he’d be in the mountains, naked, in the winter, she eased Sam up the trail until the sled was alongside the man’s body. As quickly as she could, she heaved the firewood to the other side of the path and tucked the ax into the loop on Sam’s padded harness.
Rolling the man onto the sled was not as easy as she’d hoped. The guy was heavy as a damned boulder and huge. And… handsome. And very, very naked.
“Really?” she muttered to herself. “You’re going to notice how hot he is now?”
Granted, it was impossible not to notice those things, but she still felt a little guilty as she ran her hands over him, checking for injuries. Aside from being unconscious and as frozen as a fish stick, he appeared to be uninjured.
Interesting horse tattoo on his right forearm, though. When she’d skimmed her fingers over it, she’d felt a dim vibration, as if the henna-colored lines pulsed with a mild electrical current. Too bad warmth didn’t ride in on that current, though, because damn, she swore the temperature plummeted twenty degrees in the few minutes it took to check the guy out.
As if Mother Nature had some sort of grudge against her, the biting cold wind picked up even more, and the snow, which she normally loved, became an enemy. It was probably stupid of her, but she stripped off her coat and laid it over the guy, tucking the coat’s sleeves carefully beneath him. The shirt layers she was wearing should protect her for a while, as long as they hurried.
“Let’s go, Sammy.” She urged the gelding to move faster than she’d normally like, but nothing about this situation was normal.
She was freezing and exhausted by the time she smelled the smoke from her wood stove, and her eyelashes were crusted with ice by the time she eased Sam up to the rickety porch. The frigid air burned her lungs with each breath as she dragged the man’s dead weight off the sled and then unhitched Sam. She’d remove the harness later. Right now she had to get the man into the house and the horse into the barn.
She ran the thirty yards to the barn and, battling the wind, tugged open the door. Sam trotted inside, but she didn’t bother taking him to his stall. He’d find it on his own.
Too bad getting the man to her bedroom wasn’t nearly as easy as putting up the horse. As a fitness freak who worked a small farm, Jillian wasn’t a wuss, but she thought she might have dislocated something as she dragged Fish Stick across the floor. She spent another ten minutes heaving and straining to lift him onto her bed.
Once he was sprawled out on his back, his broad shoulders taking up an enormous amount of room on the mattress, she cranked the electric blanket to the highest setting and checked his pulse. Still strong. Shouldn’t it be sluggish? She’d taken basic CPR classes as well as Search and Rescue training, and from what she remembered, hypothermia caused a slow, weak pulse. Fish Stick’s couldn’t be more opposite. Steady, surging, and she swore his skin had already pinked up a little.
Leaving the mystery alone for now, she checked the phone, and sure enough, it was dead. Next, she stoked the fire and turned up the electric heat to eighty degrees. She was lucky to have electricity at all, actually. The power kept flickering, and it was probably only a matter of time before it went the way of the phone line.
Ooh, and then she’d be alone, in the dark with no phone, in the middle of nowhere… with a stranger.
This was a horror movie setup. She even had the token small animal to prove the situation was serious and make all the women in the audience worry.
Her Bengal cat, Doodle, watched the activity from his bed in front of the wood stove, unconcerned that there was a strange man in the house. But then, nothing really fazed him. As long as he had food and someone to pet him, he didn’t bother to get excited about much.
“You’re a big help there, buddy.” She shot Doodle a dirty look as she changed into dry sweats and slippers. “I’m going to check on the complete stranger in my bed, but don’t worry about me, okay?”
Doodle blinked his green eyes at her.
Wishing she had a big dog right about now, Jillian slipped into the bedroom. As she entered, Fish Stick sighed and shifted in the bed, just the smallest movement, but enough to give her a bit of hope.
Then his eyes popped open.
Startled, she leaped back, slapping her hand over her mouth. His eyes… God, they were amazing. The lightest shade of blue, and crystal clear, like the edge of a shallow glacier. They bored into her, but there was nothing cold about them. The raw heat in them pierced her all the way to her core.
Feeling silly for her overreaction but with her legs trembling anyway, she returned to the bedside.
“I’m Jillian. I found you in the woods. You’re going to be okay.” She wasn’t sure if he understood or not, but his eyes closed, and his thickly muscled chest began to rise and fall in a deep, regular rhythm. His color was good now, and his full lips, once pale and chapped, were a smooth, dusky rose.
Remarkable.
What now? Maybe she should get something hot into his stomach. Quietly, she started for the door to put some broth on the stove.
“Hey,” he rasped, his voice a broken whisper. “Did I… hurt you?”
She inhaled sharply and turned, risking a look at him. Once again, his eyes drilled into her, but this time, they seemed to… glow a little.
“No.” She swallowed dryly. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”
His long, golden lashes fluttered down, as if he was satisfied by her answer. But dear God, why would he think he might have hurt her?
Who the hell had she brought into her house?
Fish Stick didn’t wake up again for a full twenty-four hours.
When he did, it was only long enough to drink a cup of hot beef broth. He hadn’t said a word, had merely stared at her with those gorgeous blue eyes and then fallen back into a deep sleep, as if he’d been awake for a year.
Jillian had tried to call Stacey, a local sheriff’s deputy and her best friend of twenty years, but the phone lines were still down. Figured. The storm seemed to have stalled, and Jillian decided she was going to hunt down that meteorologist and beat him with his own anemometer.
Doodle had taken to the stranger, and if the cat wasn’t eating or chasing one of his toys, he was curled up on the bed. The little traitor.
At the forty-six-hour mark, Jillian went to check on Fish Stick, her heart doing a crazy little skip when she saw him sprawled in her queen-sized bed, taking up the whole thing. For some reason, her thoughts went to what he’d do with a woman in it. Someone his size needed a king mattress, especially if he had… company.
Stop it. Why in the world was she thinking like that about a total stranger whose name she didn’t even know? Maybe because, even in his sleep, he exuded power, an off-the-charts masculinity that made every female hormone quiver.
Stop. It.
The covers had slipped low on his hips, revealing hard-cut lower abs and sinewy obliques that disappeared under the sheet. Just one inch lower, and there would be nothing left to the imagination. She’d gotten a good look when she’d brought him in, but now that his skin had color in it again, he was a totally different man. Before, he’d been like a marble statue, weak as a baby. Now… oh, boy.
His hair, a thick, long mane of white gold, had been hopelessly matted. A couple of times she caught him growling in his sleep and tearing at it, so she hoped he wouldn’t mind that she’d sort of… cut it.
She’d left it as long as she could, but the shoulder-length cut was still a good twelve inches shorter than it had been.
Now it spilled over the red flannel pillowcase like spun silk, and really, it was so not fair that a man had better hair than she did. Better hair and eyelashes. Dammit, women paid to get lashes as long and thick as his.
“This is getting ridiculous,” she muttered, as she sank onto the mattress beside him. He’s just a man. A man who appeared to be in his late twenties and gifted with a freakishly perfect body.
She palmed his forehead, relieved to find that he was neither feverish nor cold.
She reached for the covers to tug them up when suddenly, in an impossibly fast movement, he grabbed her, whipped her roughly beneath him, and slammed his forearm across her throat. Fear spiked, sharp and biting. Under his weight, she could barely move, and with his arm on her windpipe, she could barely breathe.
His eyes were shards of winter ice as they bored into her, and she immediately reevaluated her estimate of his age. He might look to be no more than twenty-eight, but his eyes… they were ancient.
“Who are you?” he growled. “Where am I?”
“I—” She coughed, trying to suck air into her burning lungs. He let up on her throat. A little. “I’m Jillian.” She gulped a breath. “You’re in my house.”
His gaze narrowed, and she felt like a deer pinned by a wolf. “Why?”
“I found you,” she rasped. “In the snow. You were almost dead.”
He frowned. “That’s impossible.”
“That you were almost dead or that you were in the snow?”
Confusion flashed in his eyes, and he let up on the pressure a little more. “I’m not sure.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, not wanting to agitate him again. “Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name?”
“I think… I think it’s Reseph.”
“You think?”
The pressure on her throat lessened to almost nothing, but each breath still burned. “Reseph is the only name that comes to me.”
He wasn’t sure about his own name? And what an odd name it was. His deep, resonant voice did have the slightest accent, though. Not that she could identify it. “Do you know where you’re from?”
“No idea. I can’t remember… anything.” He pushed up, his shoulders and biceps flexing with power, and looked down at his naked body. “Did we fuck?”
She nearly choked. “No.”
“Why not?” He eased back down on top of her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. This time she felt the distinct presence of an erection settling against her pelvis. The buzz in the very air around him shifted suddenly from menacing to blatantly erotic, but no less dangerous.
Oh, God. “Because we’re complete strangers.”
He lifted his head. “So?”
So? This was not going well. “Look, maybe you should, ah, get off me, and we’ll discuss everything over dinner.”
“Dinner?” He grinned, and good Lord, he was stunning when he wasn’t scaring her half to death. “Totally on board with that. I’m starving. Maybe we could fuck first?”
This time she did choke. “Sex is not on the table. But chili is.”
“You can have sex on tables,” he said, and great, she was now picturing doing things in the kitchen that had nothing to do with eating. At least, not eating food.
“Chili,” she croaked. “No sex.”
He appeared to consider that, and she nearly passed out from relief when he rolled off her. “Okay, so where’s the food?”
“Kitchen.” She leaped off the bed, ignoring his amused grin and trying not to look at his erection… his very nice erection… which he wasn’t making any effort to cover up.
Nope, he lay on his back, legs spread, one arm behind his head as if he was in his house, in his bed, and she was merely the date he’d invited home last night.
Again, she wondered just who she’d brought into her house, because this guy was not flying with a full crew. Definitely not right in the head.
Averting her gaze, she backed toward the door. “I’m going to see if I can find you something to wear. Feel free to use the shower—”
He was already halfway to the tiny master bathroom. Despite her annoyance, she couldn’t peel her eyes away from his body as he strode across the wood floor. Every muscle was a fluid work of art as they powered his strides, bunching and rippling. And that ass… sweet Jesus, he had the nicest set of glutes she’d ever seen.
He disappeared into the bathroom, and she swore the last flex of his butt muscles was just for her. Oh, this guy had to go.
While he showered, she headed to the kitchen to stir the Crock-Pot of chili before taking the stairs down to the cellar. Half of the underground space was dedicated to food storage, but the other half was piled high with the remnants of her life in Florida, and with huge Rubbermaid containers of Christmas ornaments and things that had belonged to her parents.
She hadn’t been through any of this stuff since she moved here, and she cursed her misty eyes as she pawed through one of the plastic tubs of her parents’ clothing. Every shirt brought back a memory, every pair of shoes a story.
Just grab something and get it over with.
Jillian wasn’t sure “grabbing something” would be adequate. Although her father had been a tall man, there was nothing of his that would fit Reseph well. She supposed he’d have to make do with the forest green flannel pajama bottoms and the oversized black sweatshirt.
Glad to be done digging through memories, she trudged back up the stairs and nearly swallowed her tongue when she stepped into the kitchen at the same time that Reseph sauntered in.
Completely naked.
“Um… you couldn’t find a towel?”
He looked down at himself. “I found a towel. I’m dry.”
The man apparently had absolutely no inhibitions. “Right. Silly me.” She shoved the clothes at him. “Do you think you hit your head?”
“Might be why my memory is gone,” he said, and okay, sure, that might explain the amnesia, but that wasn’t what she’d been getting at.
While he dressed… reluctantly, it seemed… she spooned chili into bowls. As she reached into a drawer for spoons, she sensed a presence behind her. Reseph’s warmth engulfed her as he peered over her shoulder.
“Looks good.”
So Reseph had no inhibitions and no concept of personal space. At least he’d put the clothes on.
“It is good,” she said, scooting out from under his shadow. “It’s my mom’s recipe.” She placed the bowls on the table—opposite ends.
“I wonder if I have a mom.” There was a thread of… sadness?… fear?… worry?… in his voice. Maybe it was a mix of all three.
She could only guess at how she’d feel if she woke up in a strange place with no memory of how she got there or who she was. The idea that there was a family out there who might be looking for him—including, maybe, a wife—had to be unsettling.
Especially since he’d wanted sex from a complete stranger. Jillian hoped to hell he wasn’t married.
“Let’s get some food in you, and we’ll see what we can figure out.” She opened the fridge. “I have milk, water, orange juice, Sprite—”
“Beer?”
“Sorry. Out of beer.” She liked a cold one now and then, but it just wasn’t a winter drink.
“Chili without beer is a crime in some places,” Reseph said. “Well, it should be. Sprite, please.”
She grabbed two cans and two glasses, and when she turned around, Reseph was seated. But he’d moved his bowl to a seat closer to hers. She sighed. Her mom would have said he needed to be house-trained.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“It’s just chili.”
He
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