Fate's Consort Page 3

  It still hurt that she hadn’t sang her tayyawt to their ancestors. As children, they swore to perform the ancestral custom when either one’s life thread came to an end. Martine had died alone.

  Her cousin’s death triggered Mark’s overprotective instinct into hyper-drive. Armed security guarded the Santa Cruz lab and AnthroGen’s headquarters. Analise suspected the lab directors, their homes, and their families were equally well protected. It was worse when it came time to secure her new apartment. The security system Mark insisted on turned her condo into a high-tech fortress. Although she never said a word, Analise knew all the tech in the world wouldn’t keep out whatever evil was stalking her. Whoever murdered both her biological parents and her adoptive family wouldn’t give up simply because there was an alarm on the door.

  “Are you okay, Ms. Drake?”

  Analise tensed and looked to her left. Avery Jordan, one of the building’s six armed guards, stood several feet from her, a worried frown on his face. She forced a smile.

  “Good morning, Avery. I have a 10:30 appointment.”

  “He’s checked in and waiting for you in the Maghreb room,” Avery said. “Mark gave us a head’s up.”

  “Oh,” she stammered. “Okay. Thank you.”

  She walked to an isolated elevator and placed her hand on a smooth metal plate biometrically keyed to specific AnthroGen employees. The plate flashed green when she lifted her hand. The security measures didn’t bother her as much as she expected. In fact, Mark’s guardian angel nature was the best security she’d known since her biological parents died.

  Analise swallowed hard, a tremor rippling through her, and entered the elevator. She wondered what was triggering this emotional roller coaster ride, and why now? It made little sense. She performed a quick breathing technique. The act of inhaling and slowly releasing air sent calm flowing into her veins.

  It doesn’t matter what you do, the woman’s voice inside her head warned. Your life has changed.

  ***

  Satan stared out the large conference room window. Morning fog crept like vines across the San Francisco Bay to wrap itself around the steel pillars of the Bay Bridge. The only surface untouched was the bridge’s sunlit upper level, where lines of cars inched westward like metallic insects toward the city. A smile formed on his thin lips as he caught several invocations of his name. The drivers blamed him for the dense fog. Satan laughed softly. If he could control natural forces, these useless wastes of DNA would face more than condense water molecules.

  The fog thinned and sunlight flickered on the bridge’s upper railings. A shadow teased Satan’s eyes. He looked in its direction just as the air shimmered. Whatever caught his attention disappeared. Unease curled in his belly. Since arriving in San Francisco, Satan had the sensation of being watched. If he were the paranoid type, he’d give credence to the feeling.

  The click of a door’s tumbler broke through his musing. An intense sense of familiarity gripped him as the door swung open and a woman’s scent, exotic and drenched with forgotten memories, swept into the room.

  Lilith.

  He choked, and uncertainty flooded him. It wasn’t possible. His gaze dipped to his right hand. He stilled the trembling and reminded himself he’d been there when Lilith died, his fist embedded in her chest. Death is immutable. Not even an angel can defy its absolutism.

  The soft tapping of heels on the wood floor wrenched him back to the present. Satan turned to face the door, his chest relaxed and expelled a breath. The exertion lasted a millisecond before his lungs seized again. Damn. Uriel wasn’t mistaken. Analise Drake was Analise Willoughby, and Lilith’s descendant.

  How the hell had she eluded his reach?

  Because we no longer needed her after Richard Willoughby died. It also appears my brother Gabriel hid Kella Willoughby’s offspring quite well.

  Where are you, Uriel?

  Just leaving New York. I should reach you in several hours. Be careful you don’t drool. It wouldn’t do for Ms. Drake to see you behaving like a lapdog.

  Satan ignored Uriel’s insulting words to focus on the woman who entered the conference room. An emotion stirred in the pit of Satan’s stomach, which he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Uriel was right. It wouldn’t do for her to see how she affected him. He squashed the feeling and studied the woman who stood between him and his revenge.

  Analise’s curvy frame made her appear taller than the five feet, nine inches listed on her driver’s license. The Armani-tailored slacks and jacket were professionally casual, while her black silk T-shirt whispered sexy elegance. When his gaze lifted to her face, he noticed she wore her curly black hair in a loose ponytail.

  Her cold hazel gaze returned his perusal. The pull was irresistible enough for him to lay plans. He definitely intended to fuck her before he left San Francisco.

  “Good morning, Mr. Nathanson.”

  The sultry timbre of her voice was at odds with the icy reserve she wore like body armor. Analise Willoughby would not be an easy conquest, but taking her would definitely be pleasurable. He gave the non-verbal tension time to grow, shifting his weight as if to take a step. There it was—the slight dilation of her pupils and the quick pulse at her throat. He waited then it came, the quick, nervous swipe of her tongue across her bottom lip. She was his.

  Satan approached her and held out his hand. Her touch sent tiny electric shocks through him, and an image of her fingers clenching his cock flashed in his mind. Hard on its heels was one of him on his hands and knees, dog-like, salivating over a bone.

  Crass but timely, Uriel. What would I do without you?

  Interesting question, Sire. Shall I answer?

  He heard the amusement and didn’t answer. “Good morning, Ms. Drake, or do you prefer Dr. Drake?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, slipping her fingers from his hand. “Please sit.”

  Satan moved to occupy the chair facing the door, his back to the window. It was an unusual tactic for him, but the right one as Analise’s annoyance flared before her professional mask fell into place.

  She seated herself and met his stare. “Would you like coffee or tea? Water?”

  “What are you drinking, Ms. Drake?”

  “Coffee.”

  Analise placed her hand on the table’s glass surface. A minute later the door opened. A thirty-something Latina woman strolled in. The softening of Analise’s reserve didn’t escape his notice. Was the reserve solely for him, or all males?

  “Hi, Lea. Congrats on the promotion. Did Mark order the pastries?”

  Lea grinned. “Thanks, I didn’t expect the bonus. He did and said your limit is two pastries.”

  Her gaze switched to Satan’s face and lingered before she said, “The coffee is Jamaican Blue Mountain, Mr. Nathanson, if you’d like that. We also have tea or juice.”

  “Coffee will be fine, thank you.”

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “Sugar, please.”

  Once the door closed behind Lea, Satan studied the conference room. The furniture was sleek polished metal, leather, and glass. A wood bookcase was the one anomaly in the room as if the designer was determined to infuse life into a room named for a desert. The one place on earth he actively shunned.

  He forced himself to ignore the tug of the past and consider the woman standing between him and the destruction of the Hierarchy. Despite her icy exterior, Analise breathed life into the room. He wanted to claim it. A sentiment he hadn’t experienced since his expulsion, which made the possessing of her and her company all the more enticing.

  There is the matter of her biological parents’ death, Sire.

  You assume, Uriel, she will discover the truth.

  As he exchanged pleasantries with Analise, Satan used the time to study her until Lea’s entrance ended the polite lobbing back and forth. He sat silently until the assistant left the room. His gaze returned to Analise who was biting into a pastry. Her soft moan sent a quick burst of blood to his dick. Damn, she was
sexy as hell. He brought his mug to his lips and sipped, using the silence to rein in his lust. As she savored her pastry, he scanned her mind, forcing himself to ignore a second moan that slipped past her lips. Her confusion about his visit didn’t surprise him. It was common knowledge among investors AnthroGen wasn’t for sale. What she didn’t know, the word no wasn’t part of his vocabulary. He didn’t expect Analise to bite at his first offer but it was easy to change things. He was after information to further his acquisition of the company.

  Satan believed he was unobtrusive as he followed a thought in her mind. Instead, he slammed into a mental barrier so powerful it left a painful mark on his awareness. He gingerly extracted himself and waited for the pain to disappear. He reinforced his own blocks before subtly testing Analise’s telepathic barrier. A faint crease formed on her forehead before her shield became stronger. It was apparent her telepathic level was off the chart. He hadn’t encountered one with her strength in centuries. Excitement coiled inside him for the first time since walking into the building. To control one of Lilith’s descendants was a game-changer.

  “May I ask why you thought it necessary to arrange a one-on-one meeting with me, Mr. Nathanson? A businessman of your status doesn’t travel across the country to hear me say AnthroGen isn’t for sale.”

  Satan took a long slow sip of coffee before setting his cup on the table. He leaned back against his chair. “Direct and to the point. Something I admire in a woman.”

  Annoyance flared in Analise’s eyes. “You aren’t here to praise Cleopatra, although I should worry if you’re here to bury her. I’m also not buying insta love or lust. The trope is so not your style if the tabs are correct. Shall we leave out the BS and you play your cards as you see them?”

  “No, burials and insta love didn’t bring to your conference room,” he came back. “Although I’m willing to combine business with pleasure if you’re so inclined.”

  “Let’s talk business since nothing else interests me at the moment. Why did you request a meeting?”

  “I think it would be obvious.”

  “To you.” Analise took a sip of her coffee. “I’m used to kiss-ass execs assigned the task of wooing me.” She paused and returned his perusal. “Did you think you’d be more successful?”

  “Innovative startups and human enigmas intrigue me.”

  “AnthroGen ceased to be a startup two years ago,” she stated, rising and walking over to the window. “I assume human enigmas refer to me. As to pleasure-seeking, a simple phone call would have saved you time and money. I’m sure you can see my confusion.”

  Satan reluctantly tore his gaze from the lovely ass on Analise. He needed to focus on the acquisition of her company first.

  “It’s no secret AnthroGen is at the forefront in genomic diversity and mutation research. Except for the four patents filed, no investor can get an accurate picture of your company’s value. It’s difficult to gauge what is fact and what is fiction about AnthroGen.”

  “So, you’re here to investigate a mystery.” She turned to face him. “I’m still having trouble with what would drag you from your lair and your kittens when a VP would do.”

  “There you are wrong, Ms. Drake,” Satan drawled. “I do occasionally leave my lair to explore opportunities. . .of all types.”

  His eyes raked her entire body before returning to lock with hers. “On the issue of cats, I much prefer adult and untamed felines.”

  “Is that supposed to make me special?” Her voice was tight with repressed anger.

  “Very.” He rose from his chair and moved to join her at the window. “Secrets have always fascinated me. Will you have dinner with me this evening?”

  He felt the tension ripple across her body before she asked. “To what end, Mr. Nathanson?”

  “At the moment, nothing more than a business discussion, Ms. Drake. If something else arises, it will be your decision.”

  Wary eyes, like those of a leopard shifter he once hunted, studied him. Satan scented Analise’s dilemma. She was cautious and intrigued. A cordial smile touched her lips without making its way to her eyes.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Westin St. Francis.”

  She swept past him to the table and swiped her hand across the surface. “Mark, please make dinner reservations at Quincy’s. Tonight, 6 p.m.” She glanced at Satan. “Would you like me to arrange for a car, or do you prefer to be picked up on my way, Mr. Nathanson?”

  Satan frowned inwardly. If he agreed to either offer, the game would end as soon as he walked out the door. “No need, I can take a cab. I believe this evening will be pleasurable for both of us.”

  Analise inclined her head but remained silent as he strolled through the door. Before it completely shut, he heard her mutter, “We shall see.”

  Chapter 3

  Analise twisted her body to the left and eyeballed her reflection in the mirror, a contemplative pout on her lips. She closed her eyelids. Dream Candy’s dark blue eyes stared back at her before Peter Nathanson’s face imposed itself in her mind. Contact lenses can change eye color, a beard can hide a scar, she reminded herself. Telepathic projections would give her what he wanted her to see. The fact Nathanson didn’t immediately recognize her, despite his clumsy invasion, was puzzling. She scanned better at four years old than he did. Her real worry: his touch wasn’t what she experienced each night. It bothered her.

  For once, she welcomed the familiar texture of her paranoia and allowed the possibility that this was a game to sit barnacle-like in her mind. Reaching for her favorite Armani dress, she slipped it over her head and checked herself in the mirror. A prickling sensation raced down her left arm. Analise rubbed the spot while deciding the dress was overkill. It was a business dinner. After a quick change, she inspected her appearance a second time.

  She’d received her share of “you’re so beautiful” but never saw it. Her mother’s smooth desert brown skin, hazel eyes, and black hair were all hers. Kella Willoughby’s striking beauty skipped her and in exchange she got her Richard Willoughby’s English nose and mouth because of his Black and English heritage. At twenty-three, she considered plastic surgery to reshape her nose to look more like her mother’s. At thirty-one, Analise was glad she hadn’t.

  Despair descended with a swiftness that never failed to surprise her when she thought about her mum and dad. The emotion was a serrated blade tearing at carefully constructed barriers. Aloneness framed her life since her parents’ death. Wrapping her arms about her waist, Analise tried to hold back the torrent of emotions, failing miserably until she surfaced.

  You are not alone, Tamahaq. I am here whenever you are ready to face who and what you are.

  The words were comforting, and so much more. Analise dispersed the heartbreaking memories, shutting the door to her mental safe room. With a last look at herself in the mirror, she walked out of the bathroom.

  Siri’s voice intruded in the quiet. “Time to depart, Ms. Drake. By the way, Mr. Stane would like you to text him when you return.”

  Analise laughed and pressed the mute button. So like Mark to impose a curfew his way. She did a quick safety check, making sure her security system was engaged before she strolled to the elevator and wondered if there would ever come a day when she didn’t have to practice hyper-vigilance to feel secure enough to leave and not worry.

  The lobby was quiet when she stepped out of the elevator. The guard on duty lifted his gaze as she approached the station. “Hey, Ms. Drake, saw you getting on the elevator and went, whoa! Where you be heading dressed like fine wine?”

  “Thanks for the compliment, Claude, and your English is atrocious.”

  “Biostatistics don’t require perfect English, only math speak. Come to think about it, neither does this job,” he mused. “By day, fearless doctoral candidate, by night, a cowering security guard for the rich and helpless. The only requirement for this job is a good evening, sir or madam. Except for you and the lab geeks, no one comes to me for convers
ation. Roger’s outside.”

  She paused before exiting the building. “Don’t you have qualifying exams coming up?”

  “Yeah, but Tyler’s girl flew in from Paris and he asked if I’d take his shift tonight. He promised to work two for me next week when I need the time off. He wanted to take her out to dinner.” Claude winked. “Or have her for dinner.”

  “Claude Reynoso. Is this a conversation you should have with the person who pays your salary?”

  “Nah,” he said. “It’s why I don’t say stuff like this around Mark.”

  Analise groaned. “I’m scheduling a company-wide meeting to remind everyone who signs the checks.”

  Claude laughed. “Have fun, Ms. Drake, and, for the record, you’re one hot chica. If you were a psycho trying to B&E, I’d give up without a fight.”

  “B&E?”

  “Breaking and entering.”

  Analise blushed. “Thanks, I guess.”

  Once Claude opened the street doors, she walked out to where her driver waited. “Hi, Roger.”

  “Good evening, Ms. Drake. Ready to go?”

  She nodded and climbed into the car. As Roger pulled into traffic, Analise considered her decision. She was on her way to one of her favorite restaurants in the city. Her dinner date was one of the most desired uber-billionaires in the country. The cons: Peter’s swipe right dating, and he wanted to get his hands on AnthroGen. Since her company wasn’t on the market, the only obstacle was her confusion.

  Analise didn’t get it why she had zero interest in Peter. Seeing Dream Candy in the flesh and there was zero reaction, not even one percent of zero? No racing of her heart, no electric shock to her clit, no flutters anywhere. No wet panties. Nothing. Why wasn’t she feeling the man? He had the sexy voice, gorgeous sensuality, and apparently the well-toned body of Dream Candy all wrapped up in a charcoal gray Zegna suit. Peter Nathanson was a walking piece of Amedei Porcelana chocolate. On the outside, he was ninety-nine percent the man in her dreams. It was the one percent that kept the doubts lingering. Until they disappeared, she’d have no problem drawing a line in the sand while they do the compatibility check.