âDo you want me to leave?â he asked, his voice tight with desire and other emotions Ronan couldnât quite label.
Or maybe he didnât want to quite yet.
The steam from the hot water floated around her body, giving the illusion that she was hovering on a cloud.
Ivy shook her head and then looked at him. There was no anger, no fury in those eyes. He saw loss and pain and a vulnerability heâd never thought to see in her.
He stared at her, feeling like a cad for drinking in his fill of her incredible body, but she made no move to cover herself or to pull the curtain shut.
A vixen at heart, VIVI ANNA likes to burn up the pages with her original, unique brand of fantasy fiction. Whether itâs in the Amazon jungle, an apocalyptic future or the otherworld city of Necropolis, Vivi always writes fast-paced action-adventure with strong independent women that can kick some butt, and dark delicious heroes to kill for.
Once shot at while repossessing a car, Vivi decided that maybe her life needed a change. The first time she picked up a pen and put words to paper, she knew she had found her heartâs desire. Within two paragraphs, she realized she could write about getting into all sorts of trouble without suffering any of the consequences.
When Vivi isnât writing, you can find her causing a ruckus at downtown bistros, flea markets or in her own backyard.
The thump thump thump of hip-hop music vibrated over Ivy Stromâs flesh, making the little hairs on her arms stand to attention. The rhythmic noise was so loud she could barely hear her own rapid heartbeat.
She took another sip of her tonic and lime, the liquid quenching her dry throat. From her perch on the stool at the main bar, she scanned the dance floor once more for her quarry, her eyes pausing every so often on lone males.
Sheâd been told that Sallos, the Great Duke of Hell, would be here, lurking around like the degenerate demon he was. Heâd taken two girls from here in the past four months. This was supposedly one of his favorite hunting grounds.
Now it was hers.
Ivy shifted in her seat; the silver daggers she had strapped to her sides underneath her T-shirt were starting to chafe. It was difficult to dress inconspicuously for a club and still carry as much hardware as she wanted.
She had no less than four knives on her, all silver; two ampuls of holy water, hidden carefully in her cleavage; and sheâd hung a bag of salt from her belt. And of course she wore a blessed silver cross around her neck. She was prepared for anything to happen. With demons, it usually did.
Sheâd been hunting this one for a little over five months now. For the past year heâd been terrorizing the streets of San Francisco. Seven women had been murdered so far. Theyâd all been identified by their dental records and fingerprints. Because this demon didnât leave much to recognize.
But his reign was over as far as Ivy was concerned. Sheâd gotten a reliable tip that heâd be here at this club tonight and Ivy was ready for him. Sheâd take him out, but not before she got a chance to interrogate him. It was her job to hunt him down, but there was also a personal reason behind her need to find him. This demon supposedly had information that could locate Quinn Strom, Ivyâs brother.
Heâd been missing for three years now. He was the last of her family and she swore sheâd never give up searching until she found him, dead or alive. At least then sheâd know, and she could move on with her life. Or exact her revenge, which would be more like it. The Stroms were all about revenge and justice.
Sheâd been born into the hunting community. Her dad had been a hunter when heâd met her mother. Heâd actually met her while chasing down a rogue priest whoâd been possessed by a strong wrath demon. Ivyâs mother had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but her father had saved her life before the demon could do any permanent damage.
They never married, but they lived together, and she had learned the ways of the hunter. She had Quinn shortly after, then Ivy two years later. Sheâd died when Ivy was only nine. On the job, of course. It had always been about the job. Usually just their dad would go out on hunts, for days sometimes. But on a few occasions, both parents went. In this particular case, Quinn had been left to take care of her while their mom and dad hunted. Dad had come back alone.
Hunters rarely lived to a ripe old age.
Ivy ran a hand over the cross at her throat. The necklace had been a gift from Quinn about a month before he disappeared. When he gave it to her, he told her never to remove it. It would protect her day and night from everything, including the nightmares she sometimes had. After he left, she never did take it off. It was her last reminder of him. Everything else he had taken with him, wherever that was.
She missed him. When he disappeared it was as if he taken a part of her with him. Theyâd been close. Had to be to endure the constant moving around the country and their dadâs long absences while he hunted. Quinn had never let her out of his sight. Heâd always been there for her. When sheâd have nightmares, which was often, heâd be there to soothe her back to sleep. In many ways, Quinn had raised her. Not her dad.