Dark Time: Mortal Path by Dakota Banks Page A

hundred dollars in case he needed to use her again.
    Moving around to the back of the building, he waited until a delivery truck arrived. When the driver went inside carrying boxes, Watcher grabbed a few boxes from the open end of the truck and took the same path. Inside there was a man at a desk who barely looked up when Watcher came in.
    “Better catch up,” the man said. “Your partner’s gone up in the freight elevator already.”
    “Thanks. I’ll hurry.”
    Watcher did hurry, at least until he got around the corner out of sight from the desk. He located the elevator and left the boxes there. The driver would wonder who had done him a favor, but probably wouldn’t question it. There were many servants in the building.
    Watcher found the fire stairs, almost never used in a tall building with elevators. He jogged to the thirty-ninth floor, enjoying the exercise, and sat down to wait.
    At 3 A.M., he cracked open the fire door and made sure no one was in the hall. Once at her doorway, he was inside in less than thirty seconds. Watcher was skilled with his hands in small ways, as well as in large, murderous ones.
    He stood in the dark, filling his lungs with her scent.
    “No need to rush.” He liked the sound of his whispered voice bouncing softly off her walls.
    He used a flashlight to examine the room and take in every detail. He was capable of assessing a scene quickly, spotting enemies or vulnerable places. It was a native skill honed by years of necessity. He saw it all: the dented cushion on the chair that held the shape of her ass, the blank, dusty face of a TV
    hardly ever used, the spoon she’d left on the counter after stirring her morning coffee. A barbarian drink.
    Tea was the only hot drink that passed his lips.
    The spoon on the counter had probably touched her lips. He picked it up and pressed it to his mouth, licking it.
    She would be his. She was already his, but the time had not come to take her.
    Watcher’s thoughts grew hot. He hurried toward the bedroom.
    No need to rush.
    She was a capable warrior, and he was in her home den. He had to be careful. Moving with the stealth granted to him, he slid toward the dark form on the bed. He knelt at the bedside and remained there, unmoving, for fifteen minutes to make sure he hadn’t disturbed her. While killing her as she abruptly awakened held a certain appeal, he had other plans for this night.
    As his eyes grew adjusted to the dark, the faint glow of a nightlight in the open closet allowed him to see her form in detail. Lying on her back, she’d tossed aside her cover, exposing most of her body. She slept almost naked, with delicate underwear covering the mound between her legs. Her breasts were exquisite, and he longed to take them into his powerful hands. Her scent was powerful this close, the intoxicating odor of the wild, primal creature that she was—the one who belonged to him.
    He felt the swelling in his sweatpants and slipped them down. With one hand he began to pleasure himself, and with the other he circled his fingertips on one of her nipples and then the other. She moaned a 38 z 138
    2009-08-25 02:50

    little and shifted, but didn’t wake. He did it again and again, light as a feather, and was rewarded with the sight of her nipples responding to his touch.
    His hand traveled like a puff of air across her belly and reached the band of her underwear. His fingertips slipped under the band and felt the soft mat of her hair. Inches more, where warmth rose from her and her womanly scent flowed like water from a spring, only inches more to the prize, but he gently pulled his hand back. Even through his sensual intoxication, he knew that touching her there, pressing his fingers inside, would waken her and she’d go for the gleaming knife on the table by the bed. He’d have to kill her quickly and quietly, and that was no good. He wanted his time with her in a place where screaming didn’t matter.
    Instead he put his hand softly on the