Night Hunter

by Cathy McDavid

  "Sure." Nick reclined into the cushions only to sit up straight when she returned carrying a tall tumbler filled to the brim. "Thanks." He took the glass from her, noticing her hands trembled. "You okay?"

  "A little shaky still." Her breath hitched. "If you don't mind, I'm going to clean up a bit and take a couple of aspirins."

  "Why don't I leave-"

  "You can't!" She bit her lip and then in a more controlled voice said, "I wish you'd stay. I'm not quite ready to be alone."

  "All right." He understood her trepidation. After Radium's attack, Nick had feared being alone, particularly at night. For months, he'd slept on a cot in Charlie's room. "No rush, I'll be here."

  "Thank you," she whispered and disappeared down the hall.

  Nick polished off half his water, not realizing how thirsty he was. Too antsy to sit, he rose, stretched, then strolled the room, pausing to study a set of framed photographs sitting on a chrome-and-glass computer desk.

  The first photo was a candid black-and-white snapshot of Helena, Gillian's mother, taken shortly before her death. Nick recognized it from various newspaper accounts and the TV-7 News Center archives.

  Looking at the picture, two things were clear to Nick: where Gillian had inherited her blond beauty, and why William Sayers, a one-time juvenile delinquent, petty criminal, and notorious bad boy, had turned a new leaf, becoming a devoted and lawabiding husband and father.

  Next to the photo of Helena was a studio family portrait. Flanked by two doting parents, a young Gillian wore what was probably her Easter Sunday dress and a big, toothless grin. Though cute, the picture lacked the sentimental charm of the third and remaining one.

  Sitting on her father's shoulders, a toddler-age Gillian waved a tiny American flag and watched a passing parade, her small round face alight with joy and wonderment. Gillian's mother stood beside them, her left hand resting on her husband's arm, her right on Gillian's chubby leg. She gazed up at them both with love and adoration.

  They were the epitome of a happy family.

  And like Nick's, torn apart in the blink of an eye.

  He touched the corner of the last picture. He couldn't change what had happened, couldn't bring back the dead. But he might, if they found and destroyed all three female creatures, save countless more families from ruination.

  A loud crash reverberated from another part of the condo, startling Nick. Not stopping to think, he bolted across the living room and hollered, "Are you okay?"

  CHAPTER NINE

  "I'm fine," Gillian's sorrowful reply came from behind the closed bathroom door.

  Nick hesitated, his hand hovering above the doorknob and his chest pounding. "What's wrong?"

  "I dropped a jar of salve."

  "Did it break?" He envisioned her bare feet stepping on glass fragments.

  "No. But the contents spilled and went everywhere." She sounded on the verge of tears. "I couldn't get the damn lid off."

  "Are you decent?"

  "Yes, but-"

  He opened the door, slowly so as not to bump her, and squeezed into the cramped space. "Here, let me help."

  "Really, Nick." She had no choice but to step backward or be trampled. "I don't need your help."

  The shower door rattled when she inadvertently whacked her elbow on it. "Ow!"

  "You sit." Nick shut the toilet lid, clasped her by the shoulders, and gently lowered her onto the seat. "I'll clean up."

  Ripping off a dozen or so sheets of toilet paper, he knelt and swabbed up the spilt ointment, which had splattered all over the floor, cabinet, and wall.

  "This is truly embarrassing." She sat hunched over, her forearms propped on her knees. "I'm such a klutz."

  "Relax. I won't tell."

  She'd changed into a pair of gym shorts and a gray sports bra that revealed considerably more than it hid. Nick tried not to drool over the lovely expanse of bare legs mere inches from his face or the tiny butterfly tattoo floating just above her belly button.

  Retrieving the fallen jar, he passed it to Gillian. "By some miracle there's a little left."

  She wiped the outside clean with a towel. "I was trying to put some salve on my scrapes when I dropped the jar."

  "I'll do it for you." Nick made the offer without thinking and it wasn't until the words left his mouth that he realized what such a task would involve-his fingers stroking her bare flesh. "Unless you rather I didn't."

  "Actually, I'd appreciate it. If you don't mind."

  Oh, Shit.

  He braced a hand on the counter, climbed to his feet, and said with all the nonchalance he could muster, "I don't mind."

  Taking the jar from her, he moved aside. Gillian swivelled around and presented her back to him, then lifted her hair off her neck.

  Nick gulped, prayed to the Ancients for strength, and dipped a finger into the jar of salve.

  He focused on her various cuts and scrapes, which were many, and not the sensation of her silky smooth skin, which was incredible. When a familiar pressure began to build in his groin, he tried staring at the ceiling. Since his mind readily supplied a very accurate picture of what his fingers were doing, that trick also failed.

  Giving up, Nick stared his fill. If he were going to sport an erection, he might as well enjoy the view.

  And what a view.

  Her sweetly curved neck and arm draped elegantly over her head reminded him of a Greek statue, all sensuous lines and tantalizing curves. With each breath she took, her slim shoulders rose and fell. As did her breasts, the soft tops of which spilled from her sports bra.

  Nick was mesmerized.

  When he finished with the back of her neck, she tilted her head and sighed softly. "Can you do the sides, too?"

  Now his hands were shaking. "Sure," he croaked, sounding-and feeling-like a teenaged boy who'd recently entered puberty.

  Get a grip, he told himself. You're a grown man. Not a kid.

  A grown man who very much wanted to pick up where he and Gillian had left off last week in his kitchen. He reminded himself she'd had one hell of a night and sex with him was probably the last thing she wanted or needed.

  "Here, too," she murmured and lowered one bra strap to reveal a shallow cut.

  Nick silently cursed. Could she truly be blind to the effect she was having on him? Not hear his pulse thrumming? Not notice the tension radiating off him in waves?

  Unless she wasn't blind at all. His fingers stilled.

  What if she, too, wanted to pick up where they left off? "Thanks." She let her hair drop and faced forward.

  "You're a dear."

  You're a dear? Well, that didn't sound like any ravish-me-I-beg-of-you invitation he'd ever heard. His erection lost some of its atta boy.

  "Anytime." He replaced the lid and plunked the jar on the counter.

  Gillian rose, her subtle movements a tantalizing combination of innocence and provocativeness Nick found irresistible. He knew he should leave and give her some privacy, but he didn't. He couldn't. Watching her had triggered a communication shutdown between his brain and his legs.

  Oddly enough she didn't seem to mind being trapped by a human wall. Lifting his right hand, she placed it on her cheek and held it there. Her skin was petal soft and warm beneath his fingers.

  "I haven't thanked you for saving my life earlier." "You're welcome."

  "I'd have died if not for you." She turned her face into his hand.

  He was immediately reminded of the night in, his apartment when they'd been sitting at his dining table and her tongue accidently darted out to touch his palm.

  And then it happened again, only this time was no accident. She kissed his palm as she might his mouth, fully, sensuously, using tongue, lips, and teeth.

  Nick tensed. Hands weren't anything he considered an erogenous zone. On the giving end, maybe, but not the receiving end. Gillian, however, was fast making a believer out of him.

  "You really should stop that." His request was halfhearted, not that she listened.


  Every nerve in his arm, from his fingertips to his shoulder, tingled. And the sensation didn't stop there. It moved down his spine and along the back of his thighs. He had another five seconds before his legs buckled and he slumped to the floor, completely at her mercy.

  Right before he lost all respect for himself, she stopped, and Nick breathed for the first time in almost a minute.

  That was, until she took the hand she'd just kissed, placed it on her hip, and slipped her arms around his neck.

  Because he wasn't dead, paralyzed, or hog-tied, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his mouth in her hair. Though she felt damn near perfect and there wasn't anything else he'd rather be doing, he said, "This is a mistake."

  "Sex with you couldn't possibly be a mistake."

  Did she have to use the "s" word? Nick groaned, part in frustration-one of them had to keep a level head-and part in elation-his attempts to treat her like crap the past week hadn't driven her away.

  "Gillian, honey, you don't know how much I want that."

  "I want it, too," she whispered, toying with the fine hairs at the base of his neck.

  "The timing's not right. You've had a rough night. You're scared and don't want to be alone. Those kind of emotions cloud a person's judgment."

  "My judgment is crystal clear." She stood on tiptoes and brushed her lips across his. They were still moist from kissing his palm.

  He licked his own lips and swore he could taste her.

  "That's good, because mine is shot to hell."

  Her smile was shameless and a total turn-on. "Take me to bed, Nick."

  "Wait."

  A small crease furrowed her brow. "What?"

  He deserved a medal. Here he had a beautiful woman in his arms, insisting he take her to bed, and he was bound and determined to do the noble thing.

  "If you're worried about morning-after awkwardness ..." She brushed his lips again with hers, lingering a little longer than before. "Don't be."

  "I'm not." He suffered a lapse in willpower and cupped her very nice and quite shapely ass in his hands. "It's the morning after my fight with Cadamus I'm worried about."

  She drew back, and Nick released her.

  "You think what we're feeling isn't genuine?" she demanded. "That it's just a product of the circumstances?"

  "Hell, no. I'm worried what will happen if I don't make it through the fight with Cadamus in one piece." "You will."

  "But if I don't . . ." He banged a fist on the doorjamb, then let his arm drop. "I can't commit to you, not right now. After this-"

  "Bullshit!"

  "I hate the thought of hurting you." He reached for her.

  She evaded him. "Let's say Cadamus kills you. You think I'll be less hurt because we didn't make love two or three dozen times back when we had the chance? Wrong." She glared at him. "I'll be more hurt."

  "Two or three dozen times?" A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

  "Nick, if you lose the final battle, whatever happens tonight-or any night from now on-really won't matter, will it?"

  "Your logic is difficult to dispute."

  "I'm a psychologist." She slid into his open arms. "I've had years of :training in getting people to see reason."

  He lowered his head. "Thank God for college educations."

  In the next second their mouths were locked together and his tongue was tangling with hers and, oh, yes, he was holding her ass again and pulling her flush against him.

  Frantic to devour her, Nick backed her into the counter, and something clattered to the floor. The jar of salve?

  Gillian wrenched free and panted, "Protection."

  "Tell me you have some." He'd prefer not to run to the convenience store if he could help it.

  "In the medicine cabinet behind me."

  Nick got the cabinet door open, but he couldn't find the condoms. Probably because he was simultaneously trying to yank his shirt from his pants.

  "Here, I'll get them." She twisted around and reached into the cabinet, producing two condoms.

  "Is that all you have?"

  "Sorry. I haven't needed any lately."

  Nick took the condoms from her. "Fine. We'll improvise."

  "Improvise?" She looked interested, which ignited his interest-through the roof.

  Grabbing her hand, he pulled her from the bathroom. "Which way?"

  "Follow me." She started down the hall with him in tow.

  "Gladly."

  Gillian had been right, Nick thought as they stumbled into her darkened bedroom. Making love with her tonight, and every night for the next few weeks, wasn't going to change anything.

  Well, maybe one thing. If he were destined to leave this world behind forever, he'd do so a content man.

  Nick did have a point, Gillian thought as she led him across the floor of her bedroom. She'd had a rough night. And it was possible the female creature's attack on her, and her subsequent fright, was responsible for this sudden and inexplicable lack of inhibition.

  Though she doubted either she or Nick would regret their impulsiveness come morning, she did understand his concern. He really was a sweet guy.

  And in this instance, absolutely wrong. No way was she going to regret having sex with him.

  He tripped and stumbled into her, swearing under his breath.

  "Careful." She caught him by the arm.

  "Sorry. I stubbed my foot on the bedpost."

  "I'll get the light." She switched on a small reading lamp attached to her headboard.

  Immediately, the room was bathed in a soft yellow glow.

  "Nice," Nick said, surveying their surroundings. "Not too girly?"

  "Uh-uh." He grinned. "Very sexy."

  Unlike the rest of her condo, Gillian's bedroom had been decorated with an eye to the old-fashioned, complete with four-poster bed, decorative throw pillows edged in lace, and a five-drawer oak dresser,painted white with gold trim. Several framed prints, Monet knockoffs, added color.

  "This room is my one indulgence," she explained. "I like it." He caught a glimpse of her in the stand ing oval mirror by the dresser, and his grin turned sly. "I'll get the light," she said.

  "Leave it on. I have plans for that light. And that mirror."

  Gillian felt a stirring inside her. Nervousness mingled with arousal. "What sort of plans?"

  "I'll show you." He led her to the mirror.

  She recalled his earlier remark about improvising and the stirring inside her blossomed into a blistering heat that spread fast and furious.

  Professors of psychology knew a lot about sex. It came with the territory. There wasn't much Gillian hadn't heard from patients and students or read about in books and reports. But knowing didn't translate into experiencing. She wasn't one to take the initiative when it came to intimate relationships. And since the few men she'd been with hadn't either, experimenting and crossing conventional boundaries weren't part of her normal repertoire.

  She was definitely due for a change.

  "Come here," Nick said, his voice low and rough.

  As Gillian stepped closer, he ripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. Goose bumps erupted on her arms. He had a truly spectacular physique, and the scars on his chest and shoulder only enhanced his rugged sex appeal.

  When she would have gone into his arms, he placed his hands on her shoulders and faced her away from him. In that same rough voice he said, "Look at me," and nodded at the mirror. Their eyes connected in the reflection. "That's right."

  A shiver of desire rocked her when his hands circled her waist, then slid up to cover her breasts, kneading her pliant flesh through the fabric of her sports bra.

  She moaned, her eyelids drifting shut.

  "Don't close your eyes." He rolled her taut nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. "I want you to watch."

  Gillian arched her back, pressed her breast into his hands and watched both Nick's and her reaction to what he was doing in the mirror.

  "You like?" he whispered and kissed her collar
bone, his teeth and tongue doing truly amazing things.

  "I like," she murmured as nerves she didn't know existed came alive.

  When his hands moved lower to her belly, she said, "Don't stop."

  Nick shot her a mischievous look in the mirror. "How 'bout we improvise a little?"

  Something in his tone sent Gillian's pulse spiking and her imagination soaring. "What do you have in mind?"

  "This." He removed her bra, then took her hands and placed them on her bare breasts.

  Her initial reaction was to pull away but he held her hands firmly in place. "I-I don't ..."

  Manipulating her fingers so that she stroked her own breasts and fondled her own nipples, he said, "You do now."

  Again, he caught her gaze in the mirror, and the pure wickedness flashing in his eyes vanquished every last bit of her resistance.

  She stared at her reflection, transfixed. She wasn't averse to touching herself, but she'd never done it in front of anyone. It was a little disconcerting ... and a lot exciting.

  Nick's hand slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts. Gillian bit her lower lip in heady expectation. As his fingers found her sex, she stifled a cry of pleasure and widened her stance. He slid first one and then two fingers inside her.

  "Nice," he said in her ear. "And wet." Using his teeth, he nibbled a path from the curve of her shoulder up to her ear. "I want you to watch yourself come, and I want to watch you doing it."

  At the rate they were going, he'd get his wish any second.

  He bent at the knees, pressed his erection into the cleft of her buttocks, and rubbed back and forth while his fingers simultaneously stroked her. Gillian gasped when he found the magical spot, the one that seemed to mystify most men. Her hands involuntarily kneaded her breasts, intensifying the sensation building within. her,

  "Yeah, just like that." Her muscles must have clenched around his fingers, for he said, "Oh, baby."

  Though her head lolled back, she didn't close her eyes. She wasn't going to miss any of this for the world.

  His thumb circled her clitoris while his fingers continued to probe inside her. She tensed, held back another moment-any longer would have been impossible-and, catching Nick's gaze in the mirror, let go.