Dark Taste of Rapture Read online

  “I won’t go easy on you.” Truth. He couldn’t. Not if he was going to be rid of her. Maybe it was unfair of him to want her kicked out because he was attracted to her. Didn’t matter. She was rich. She’d get over it.

  “Go easy on me? Why, Agent Mean, I’d be disappointed if you did.”

  “All right. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Eyes gleaming, she lifted her tank and bra. “I’ve got thirty-six C’s.”

  The male trainees might have whistled, the females might have gasped. Hector couldn’t be sure because he lost focus of everything but those perfect breasts. Honest to God, his thoughts derailed, his nerve endings going white-hot throughout his body.

  Rose-colored nipples, beaded and ripe for sucking. She had no tan lines, was the same sweet cream and honey all over. And she was closing the distance between them, tempting him, daring him. Totally within reach.

  He flexed his fingers; he wanted to reach.

  She double tapped him in the mouth so hard he was spitting blood as he fell. Stars winked through his line of vision before he landed. And then, when he hit, his skull cracking against the ground, the stars vanished and thick black cobwebs took their place.

  Lights. Out.

  Turn the page to read praise for Gena Showalter and her bestselling novels of danger and desire…

  PRAISE FOR THE ALIEN HUNTRESS SERIES

  Ecstasy in Darkness

  “A glued-to-your-seat kind of book. Pick it up and you won’t want to put it down. The action is hot and fast-paced.… Showalter is a master of creating unique, fun, and super-sexy characters. The banter between Victor and Ava will stick with you days after you’re done reading.”

  —Romantic Times

  Seduce the Darkness

  “[A] compelling and entertaining story of lust, deception, intrigue.…”

  —Romantic Times

  Savor Me Slowly

  “Hot, hard-hitting science fiction romance.… I’m so glad she took the characters to their sensual and emotional limits—and beyond!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Susan Sizemore

  “Danger and sensuality are hallmarks of Showalter’s style.… An intense read!”

  —Romantic Times

  Enslave Me Sweetly

  “Sizzling romance and nail-biting suspense.… Entertaining.… [A] roller-coaster-like adventure.”

  —Booklist

  Awaken Me Darkly

  “Mia Snow is perfect as the alien hunter with the secret.”

  —Booklist

  “A heady mixture of speculative fiction, romance, and chick lit.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Sizzles with intrigue.… Similar to Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake series.… Brilliantly written.… Amazing.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A fantastic read.… Fascinating characters.… Gena Showalter has created a very interesting world that readers will enjoy visiting over and over again.”

  —A Romance Review

  “The final spin will shock.… Mia is a fabulous ‘bad girl.’ ”

  —The Best Reviews

  MORE PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF

  GENA SHOWALTER

  “Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spellbinding story!”

  —Kresley Cole, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Dreams of a Dark Warrior

  “I love this author!”

  —P.C. Cast, #1 USA Today bestselling author of the House of Night series

  “Gena Showalter’s sparkling voice shines … the perfect canvas for her sizzling and enthralling paranormal imagination.”

  —Deidre Knight, acclaimed author of Butterfly Tattoo

  “Showalter at her finest.”

  —Karen Marie Moning, New York Times bestselling author of Shadowfever

  “Sizzles with sexual tension!!!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Sharon Sala

  All of Gena Showalter’s Alien Huntress novels are also available as ebooks.

  Also by Gena Showalter

  Awaken Me Darkly

  Enslave Me Sweetly

  Savor Me Slowly

  Seduce the Darkness

  Ecstasy in Darkness

  Deep Kiss of Winter

  Pocket Star Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Gena Showalter

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Pocket Star Books paperback edition September 2011

  POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  Cover design by Lisa Litwack

  Illustration by Cliff Nielsen

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN 978-1-4391-7578-1

  ISBN 978-1-4391-7580-4 (ebook)

  To my amazing editor Lauren McKenna, who saw the diamond in the rough, then helped me see it, too!

  To the fabulous Louise Burke and all the wonderful folks at Pocket, for the support and enthusiasm (and such a gorgeous cover)!

  To the awesome Megan McKeever, for helping me out any time I came a-calling!

  And to the adorable pocket rocket Jill Monroe, for the pep talks!

  And to the incomparable Kresley Cole for the love.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Fourty

  Chapter Fourty-One

  Chapter Fourty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  To you, my readers, for falling in love with Noelle and asking for her story!

  Prologue

  TWO MEN STOOD IN the middle of a shadowed, barren field. Both were human. One was tall, muscled, with dark hair and a busted-u
p face. His syn-cotton shirt was torn, his jeans dirty, and his boots scuffed. There were telltale weapon bulges under his arms, at his wrists, and at his ankles.

  Clearly, he was the bodyguard.

  The other wore a perfectly tailored silk business suit, his Italian loafers freshly polished. His sun-kissed hair was expensively coiffed, and the only bulge he sported was the one in his pocket, where he kept his wallet.

  Clearly, he was the money.

  Acrid wind shrieked as if someone had cranked a hard rock song on a radio, dancing thick dirt granules in every direction, Money radiated impatience mixed with glee—until two other men materialized a few feet away, and the impatience vanished.

  The newcomers had appeared in a blink, without walking a single step: a white-haired Arcadian—an otherworlder with the ability to teleport, among other things—and another human, this one wearing a suit as well, only his was ill-fitting and made from a cheap synthetic fiber.

  The human’s arms were cuffed behind his back. He smelled of pungent fear and urine. Poor bastard must have pissed himself.

  Without a word, the Arcadian pushed the trembling male to his knees.

  Night’s about to get interesting.

  The rust-colored sky appeared swollen, the storm-drenched clouds ready to burst. In the center, the sun was a hemorrhaging hook of gold, offering only a fraction of light. That hardly mattered to the witness. From high in the gnarled trees surrounding the field, his gaze cut through the gloom as easily as a knife through flesh.

  “You think you can encroach on my territory?” Money snarled down at the kneeler. Another gust of wind created that perfect background music.

  “N—no. I just … I … I’m so sorry. I never meant …”

  “You never meant to offer New Chicago’s elite prettier girls? Better prices?”

  “No. No. You have to believe me. I only thought … hoped …”

  “You thought … hoped …” Money sneered. No question, he was a man used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. He held out his hand, and Bodyguard smacked the butt of a pyre-gun onto his palm. “Well, your thoughts and hopes just got you killed.”

  “No!” Kneeler sobbed like a baby. “Please! Don’t do this. I’ll leave New Chicago. I won’t ever come back. I swear!”

  Money nodded to the Arcadian, who jerked his T-shirt over his head and stuffed the material in Kneeler’s mouth. Kneeler shook his head, perhaps to dislodge the cloth, perhaps to attempt another plea for mercy.

  Either way, he failed.

  “You were right, you know,” Money said, smug now. “You won’t ever come back.” A blaze of yellow light erupted from the barrel of the gun, arrowing out and nailing Kneeler in his chest.

  A muffled scream of agony pierced the air. As Kneeler toppled to the ground, twitching, dying as his organs fried to a crisp, Money returned the gun to Bodyguard and wiped his hands in a job well done.

  One

  Alien Investigation and Removal Training Camp Day One

  TRAINEE AFTER TRAINEE EMERGED from the auto-bus. Some were in their late teens and had just graduated from AIR High, but most were in their early twenties, male, and obviously overwhelmed by the line of instructors watching unabashedly as they carried their bags to their new digs: a rundown, luxuries-are-a-thing-of-the-past bunkhouse in the middle of an isolated valley.

  Isolated, and ugly. There was dirt, dirt, and more dirt, with the occasional knotted, naked tree to spice things up. Only thing that wasn’t a complete eyesore was the obstacle course woven throughout the entire mile-long stretch, with its tall but thin brick walls, elevated beams, and manmade holes and pools, but by the end of the day, everyone here would hate the course so much they’d want to burn it down and dance on the ashes rather than look at it.

  The few females to disembark, well, they were in their early twenties, too, and just as overwhelmed. Except for the last two. They just appeared eager.

  Poor, dumb kids. They’d learn.

  Thirteen years ago, Agent Hector Dean had ridden in that bus himself. Everyone on it had been yelled at, demoralized, and slapped around, all in an effort to weed out the pussies. What those two girls didn’t know but should? The yelling, the demoralizing, and the slapping were just precursors for what was to come.

  Poor, dumb, about-to-be-traumatized kids.

  Hector didn’t have to check the roster to learn the identities of his eager beavers. He’d memorized the stats of all twenty-nine recruits, and recognized the pair from their photos. Ava Sans and Noelle Tremain.

  Ava, a twenty-three-year-old fluff of femininity who was barely five nothing in a pair of heels. She had curly brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. Cute in a Sunday school teacher kind of way. Which was ironic. She had a rap sheet with more pages than the Bible.

  She’d grown up in Whore’s Corner, the poorest part of New Chicago, with a drugged-out mother and more stepfathers than fingers. Hector could relate. Not about the multiple dads, he’d just had the one, and a fucking terrible one who’d enjoyed watching his young sons prize-fight, but about the drugged-out mom living in Whore’s Corner.

  The WC was where Hector had been born, chewed up, spit out, and reformed into the man—or weapon—he was today.

  Moving on.

  Noelle, also twenty-three years old, though she was a tall, reed-slender slice of elegance, with lighter brown hair that was straight as a board, and eyes of the lightest gray. The product of old money, she’d grown up in the wealthiest part of town, in a giant-ass mansion, with doting servants to attend her every whim.

  Hector could not relate.

  She was as lovely as a cameo, and appeared to be as untouchable as a goddess. Which was also ironic. She might have a shorter rap sheet than Ava—most likely because her money had bought her a cleaner file—but every one of her arrests had stemmed from touching someone. Violently.

  He didn’t mind admitting he’d been somewhat impressed with her before he’d seen her. A former delinquent himself, he knew the gals and guys who’d get down and dirty when necessary, uncaring whether they were hurt—or worse—always made the best agents.

  Now he had to reevaluate. She looked like a tasty after-dinner treat ready to throw a tantrum over everything, not a potential badass.

  He watched as she stretched her shoulders, her white T-shirt pulling tight over the plump rise of her breasts, the golden sun lancing down and worshipping flawless skin that somehow boasted a post-orgasmic flush. Hector stopped caring about relating and realized he wanted to do a little touching of his own.

  Oh, hell, no. Attraction wasn’t something he allowed himself to feel, even in the smallest degree. Touching wasn’t something he allowed himself to do, ever. The one and only girlfriend he’d had, he’d accidentally killed.

  Goddamn mutant arms, he thought with a snarl. Strong emotion literally fired them up, atomizing both into some kind of hot, molten steel that burned through bodies, ripped out organs, and hell, destroyed anything. Even a woman he only wanted to pleasure. So, lesson learned. He and females were not a good mix.

  Friend and fellow agent Dallas Gutierrez stood on Hector’s right and moaned as if in pain. “Sweet damn, but those legs are long enough to wrap around me like a pretzel. And God, I love pretzels. Anyone know when we break for lunch?”

  “That’s my cousin, dickwad,” Agent Jaxon Tremain said from Hector’s left. Had Whacky Jacky been next to Dallas, he would have drilled his knuckles into the guy’s bicep. “Watch your mouth.”

  “By watch my mouth do you mean I should invite your cuz back to my place for a game of Hide the Magic Wand, or my new personal fave, Puff on the Magic Dragon?” Dallas asked conversationally. “And I know what you’re thinking. I’m really into wizardry these days. Well, you’re right.”

  Hector gave a rusty bark of laughter. He hadn’t observed Dallas in this good a mood in a long time.

  A low growl escaped Jaxon. “I meant I’d scoop out your liver with a spoon, you idiot!”

  “Sterling si
lver or plastic?” Hector asked. In their line of work, details were important. Besides, he liked being part of their banter. Considering the fact that his work friends were his only friends, and he rarely socialized after hours, this kind of thing made him feel connected, like a part of the team.

  Team. Something he’d never thought to be a part of, as dangerous as he was, but collaboration was a very important part of AIR. Sometimes the only thing that saved your neck was the man guarding your back.

  Dallas groused, “I remember the days when you were actually nice.”

  So did Hector. Once upon a time, Jaxon had been so by-the-book he could have been the book. Then he’d met his wife, Mishka, and the pretty little assassin had somehow infected him with asshole-itis.

  Jaxon liked to say she’d helped him accept his “true self.” And he actually said it with pride and affection, rather than revulsion, as if being yanked out of the shithead closet was a good thing.

  No one was pulling Hector out, and that was that. He was the way he was for a valid, life-saving reason, and that reason wasn’t ever going to change. Therefore, neither was he.

  “You won’t be remembering anything,” Jaxon said on a rumbling breath, “if you say one more goddamn word about my—”

  “Jaxy!”

  The argument must have drawn Noelle’s attention because she clapped her hands and twirled. Then, with a carefree laugh, she tossed her overstuffed duffel at Ava, raced across the distance, and flung herself into Jaxon’s open arms.

  Clapping? Twirling? Seriously? Maybe her record was exaggerated rather than cleaned, because damn, in that moment, the little-girl innocence radiating off her was astounding.

  Sadly, that wasn’t the turn-off it should have been. With those lush breasts and right side of dangerous curves, she was still one hundred percent woman.

  Don’t go there. AIR was his life, saving innocents his only goal. He’d spent a good portion of his childhood locked in a cage, and had been forced to listen as his only brother was beaten to death. He never wanted anyone else to suffer that kind of tragedy. More than that, he never wanted to cause another tragedy.