Demon Huntress

Shu lan supposed she should feel bad for being so blunt, but the answer had the d.e.s.i.r.ed effect; Wen stumbled to a stop in the hallway, and Shu lan sped up to escape the shock and questions. She pounded down the stairs to the giant multiroom bas.e.m.e.nt. It had, sometime before Shu lan became a Hunter, been expanded from a small, unfinished cellar to an underground facility complete with its own security systems and escape tunnels. Should anything attack the house, Hunters could shut themselves in the bas.e.m.e.nt indefinitely, and could use the two exits as well.

Two Hunter were sparring in the brightly lit workout area, their b.a.r.e feet thumping softly on the padded floor, and two more lifted weights near the rock wall. She hurried past them, through the darkened lab, which was empty except for the mystical relics, weapons, and magic supplies. The door to the library was closed.

She opened it and immediately wished she hadn't. Inside, Daquan had his wife bent over the arm of the couch. He drove into her from behind, his jeans bunched around his thick t.h.i.g.hs, one hand playing between her legs. Ting whimpered, digging her nails into the cushions Shu lan would never sit on again.

Quietly, Shu lan closed the door and sagged against the wall to wait. The sounds of their lovemaking made her wince in remembrance of the noises she and Ming jie had made, though what they'd done had been anything but m.a.k.i.n.g. .l.o.v.e.

No, their romp had been raw and rough, s.e.x born of anger, hormones, and wicked magic. Because what she felt for him when he was near had to be a result of some sort of incubus enchantment. Now she could sit back and be disgusted to the point of wanting to kill him, but when he touched her, heck, when he looked at her, she fell under his spell.

Yeah, he was a poster boy for hot doctors, but the memory of her mother, writhing in pain beneath the demon that r.a.p.ed and killed her, raked her brain like the back end of a claw hammer. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and shook her head, willing the memories away.

Only to have the fresher memories of being n.a.k.e.d with Ming jie crash into her head.

Stop. She could tell herself that his incubus sorcery was still affecting her, but a tiny part of her, the part that had come closer to finding the ultimate p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e with him than with any man, didn't care why she kept thinking about him. In any case, she needed to be stronger.

Ming jie had to die.

When the door finally opened, Daquan stepped out, graced her with one of his killer smiles, though his blue eyes darkened with concern. He didn't miss much, always appeared to be reading a situation about ten seconds into the future. Before she'd laid eyes on Ming jie, she'd thought Daquan was the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen.

"Sorry," he said, his voice a gravelly mix of Afghan battlefield vocal cord damage and s.e.x.u.a.l afterglow.

"We sometimes forget to lock doors."

Sometimes? Ting had once confessed that when she and Daquan got into it, things ignited so quickly that they'd started up while people were in the room with them. Only when they'd finished and found the room empty did they realize how carried away in each other they had become.

Shu lan couldn't even imagine being so into someone. Especially not someone like Ming jie, who wasn't even a someone. He was a something.

He held the door wider and motioned for her to come in. "Where have you been? Where's Ya qin?"

Tears unexpectedly stung her eyes. Hunter died all the time. But guilt over Ya qin's death plagued her

. . . if only Shu lan had come clean months ago about her strange symptoms. If only she'd taken herself off active duty status. If only, if only, if only.

Her self-lashing was pointless, but it was a family trait, an addiction as powerful as any other. When she'd been clean, Shu lan's mom had beat herself up daily for the things she'd done while under the influence.

The self-abuse had been as damaging as the drugs.

Shu lan collapsed into one of the two overstuffed chairs, glad to rest the shaky noodles that were her legs.

"Ya qin and I ran into some problems."

Ting hurried over, squatted at her knee. "Tell us," she said gently, her comforting, maternal presence at odds with the warrior-woman who could wipe out a den of man-sized Croix vipers with nothing more than a hatchet.