Those rosy nipples were visible, practically begging for his mouth. His fingers paused there, right above her racing heart, cupping those soft mounds. Still, he didn’t look at her but focused on the pulse beating in the side of her neck, a delicate flutter. He swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring slightly. This was insane. Completely unprofessional.
He dropped his hands. Water rinsed the suds away, making her body clean once more. His body didn’t give a shit about professionalism. With his eyes closed, he gave into his fantasy and imagined his mouth on her skin. His erection pressed painfully hard against his underwear.
Although he no longer touched her, he was fully aware of the closeness of their proximity, fully aware of the way his body trembled with the urge to touch her. The animal inside of him wanted to rip that tank top and panties from her body, to slide fully into her sleek sheath.
Cristian spun her around and pulled her back to his chest. His erection pressed tightly to her bottom. With a groan low in his throat, he nestled his face against her neck. An ache twisted low in his belly and his breath came out in harsh pants. God, he wanted her. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone. He reached around and cupped her breasts. With a moan, she rested her head back on his shoulder.
He barely moved, worried that if he did, the beast within would awaken and he would lose control. Blood pounded through his body, demanding he take her up against that tiled wall. He wanted to kiss her lips, see what she tasted like. To take those hard, rosy nipples between his teeth and suckle. He wanted to sink his body into hers, to forget everything.
She turned and directly met his gaze. He saw the desire there in her hazel eyes, desire no doubt mirrored in his own gaze. Boldly, she cupped the sides of his face. Before he could protest, she pressed her lips to his. Cristian groaned against her mouth, a tormented sound of need that he barely recognized. He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her tight against him. Their tongues met, mating, rubbing in a frenzy that took his breath. It wasn’t enough. He needed her, all of her.
His hands tangled in her wet hair, tilting her head and deepening the kiss. She tasted sweet…like strawberries on a warm summer day. Like memories of home. So sweet. He could get addicted to that taste. She moved her hands to his chest, slipping her fingers over his shoulders. When she stood on tiptoes and pressed her soft breasts to his chest, he was gone.
“I’ve wanted ye since that first moment I saw ye.”
“Then take me,” she murmured against his mouth.
With a low growl, he pushed her up against the cold tiled wall, his body holding her immobile. His mouth was on hers, hard and demanding. Frantic for more, he slid his thumbs under the elastic band of her panties. With her, nothing mattered. Not the house, not the ghosts, only this, here and now. His mouth opened over hers, his tongue slipping inside, rubbing against her own.
His fingers slid underneath the soft cotton and found those curls. She groaned, arching her back, urging him onward. Cristian slid a finger between her sleek, wet folds and he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Need twisted painfully in his groin, desire tangible.
“Make me forget,” she whispered.
The plea in her voice pierced his foggy reality and gave him pause. She wanted to forget. Yes, she wanted him, but she wanted to forget more. Forget her life. The hospitals? The Doctors? The medication? He knew it all. He knew what she had gone through. Her father had told him everything, including the guilt he felt. He refused to be another thing in a long list of events she’d like to forget. He refused to use her.
“Cristian?”
He pulled back, looking into her eyes. The plea was still there, but behind that desire was sadness and fear. It wasn’t the right time. Never would there be a right time for them. She was human, destined to die. He was destined to live on this earth, forever alone.
“Don’t,” she whispered, tightening her arms around his neck.
He sank into her, his lips against her ear. How badly he wanted to continue. So why didn’t he? She wanted him. She could ease this tension, this need. But he couldn’t take her because deep down he was still a fucking angel.
“When I take ye,” he whispered. “Ye’ll want me just as bad. It won’t be because ye want to forget.”
With all the strength he could muster, he pulled back. Her fingers bit into his shoulders as she tried to hold him to her. “I want you now!”
His hands fisted at his sides as he resisted the urge to touch her. “Ye don’t. Ye want to forget. I can see it in yer eyes.”
Frustrated, she pushed against his chest. He stepped back, leaning against the wall while the warm water sprayed his heated body.
“You’re an ass,” she hissed.
He latched onto her arm, willing her to understand. “Ashley.”
“Let me go!” She pulled against him, but he refused to release her. With a soft cry, she paused, staring at him with a look that haunted his very being. She didn’t understand why. He’d somehow hurt her.
“Don’t get me wrong, Ashley, I will have ye.”
She jerked away and stumbled from the shower, her body wet and dripping.
“But when I do, it’ll be because ye want me as much.”
She didn’t bother to face him. “Go to hell.” Without another word she raced from the bathroom, leaving Cristian burning in her wake.
With an unsteady hand, he shifted the shower knob from warm to cold.
Chapter 11
“Help me!”
The whispered plea pierced Cristian’s muddled mind.
A woman’s voice, desperate, in pain.
He awoke with a start, only to focus on familiar gray stone. If he wasn’t fully awake, the rough texture of damp rock biting into his bare chest and the side of his face pulled him completely from the unconscious. Gracefully, he jumped to his feet, still crouched in the dark corridor. Immediately ready. Always prepared.
How the fuck had he gotten down here?
Cold air clung to his skin like dew on grass. He was underground, he could sense the earth around him, pulsing. A shiver of awareness rushed over his body. The same eerie blue he’d seen those years ago still lit the stones, making them glisten like they were crawling with life. It was the same, yet before he’d never heard a woman’s voice. A familiar woman’s voice.
“Ashley?” he called out, the word echoing down the narrow tunnel.
No answer came.
He stumbled back into the wall. Even though the temperature was cold, sweat beaded between his shoulder blades. It had been Ashley. He knew it. He raked his hands through his hair, cursing the tremble of his fingers. Was her voice a ruse? Something conjured to draw him under?
“Help,” she cried, her voice weakened and pitiful. “Please, God, help me.”
The plea in her tone almost killed him, wrapped around his heart and squeezed painfully. He’d promised her father he would protect her. There was no mistake. Ashley was down here, trapped in this hell. Cristian burst forward. Mirroring the thud of his pulse, his footsteps echoed down the corridor. “Ashley!”
No response. He didn’t stop, but ran faster.
“Release me,” a deep voice growled… a familiar voice that seemed to penetrate his very soul…a voice that crystallized his insides.
Cristian froze, his breathing harsh.
“Release me,” it growled louder, directly in front of him, around him, inside of him.
“You fucking bastard,” Cristian yelled. “Where is she?”
A deep rumble shook the earth, as if the demon was laughing at him. White fury shot through Cristian. If anything happened to Ashley…he needed her. He needed her to continue his mission. He needed her to assist him…
No. He needed her for some insane reason he couldn’t quite understand. “Ashley!”
He pressed his hands to the side of the damp walls. A breath of warm air caressed the back of his neck, yet he knew no one stood there. He spun around. Suddenly, a wooden panel appeared before him, a blessed t
emptation hovering at the end of the hall. Even from the other side, he recognized that basement door. But he wasn’t surprised; he’d known where he was the moment he’d awoken.
A sudden sizzle whispered through the air, a snake hissing, a match being lit. Cristian stilled, his very instincts on alert, waiting. The sizzle grew in volume, like a fire on a wick….crackling… hissing…popping…
Ashley was in here.
He spun around. The blue light was fading, red light glowing, burning, growing. “Ashley!”
“I will be freed.” The voice whispered over his skin like an unwanted caress from a perverted relative.
“Fuck you!”
Cristian burst forward. Cold sweat broke out on his body. He had to find her. He would find her before the beast escaped. “Ashley!”
Red light burst, an explosion of heat that threw him backwards. Air swooshed around him. His skin tightened, burning his flesh against his bone until he arched with the pain. He had to find Ashley. Ashley was in that light. Ashley was being burned alive. Yet, even as he cried out for her, he knew, dear God, he knew it was too late.
Time no longer existed. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, all he could focus on was that startling pain. The heat flowed through his veins, boiling his blood and burning him from the inside out. Vaguely he was aware of hitting the door. The sound of splintering wood was nothing compared to the sizzle…the sound of his skin burning.
Just as quickly as it had come, the heat receded and he slammed against the cold stone floor, his stomach pressed to the rocky ground, his body prone, like a ragdoll tossed aside. Cool air whispered around him, bringing with a heavenly cocoon of relief. His breath fanned across the floor, condensation forming on the rocks. No other sound.
He moved his head only the slightest, enough to see the gaping hole through the door. Red light shone from that opening, a light that hovered…waiting like a demon come to take his soul. He groaned and shifted, trying to ease away from the splinters tucked under his body, piercing his skin.
The red light suddenly receded, as if being sucked back into the pit of hell. The splinters of wood rattled on the floor next to him. In a burst of movement they flew through the air and into the door, mending that hole.
“No!” Panic fueled him forward and Cristian stumbled to his feet. He had to get Ashley. He must find her before the demon did.
The door was mended, the light gone. Silence and darkness settled around him. For a moment, he merely stood there, his bare feet frozen from the cold stone floor.
Horror propelled him forward and he fell against the door. “Ashley!” he yelled.
The sound jolted him awake.
Cristian gasped and bolted upright. Softness surrounded him in a fluffy cocoon. No damp, hard rock. No light. No burning pain. He reached out, skimming his hands over the comforter. His bed. His room.
He sucked in a deep, shaky breath. “A dream. Just a fucking dream,” he whispered, swallowing hard. But the words didn’t stop the trembling in his body, nor the thundering of his heart. He’d dreamt about that demon many times, but never had he experienced such a realistic nightmare.
He settled his feet on the worn carpet. She was there, he could sense her presence. He pressed his fingers to the cool plaster wall, feeling her soul’s vibration on the other side.
How badly he wanted to check on her, but then he’d have to explain why. And he couldn’t…he couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t care. A relationship with her would be forbidden, would disrupt their mission. But he would protect her. Damn it all, he owed her father that much. He would protect her until he could get her to leave. It would be best for them all if she returned home.
He jumped from the bed and reached for his sword. Just the touch of the hilt in his hand made him feel better. He knew without a doubt that he couldn’t sleep. Not now. His mind was racing, his heart thumping madly. And certainly not with her so close.
Silently, he left the room, making his way down the dark hall. His sleep, when he could drift off, was restless, tormented by nightmares of a past life. But this…this dream had been different. This dream shook his insides to the core. This dream had involved her. Because she was constantly on his mind, or because the demon had done it on purpose to draw him out, knowing his weakness? After what had happened with Charlotte, he knew better than to have a weakness. And humans, with their emotional and physical needs, were certainly a weakness.
Charlotte. He hadn’t thought about her in fifty years. But Ashley, with her sad eyes and stubborn disposition, brought it all back. He made his way down the steps and into the large parlor. The room was empty. Not even the ghosts were present. It was like everyone, feeling the call of the beast, had gone into hiding, which was fine by him. He liked to be alone, where he need not be guarded. Where he could think. Even he knew this need he had for Ashley wasn’t normal, would never be approved of and in fact, would only lead to complications he couldn’t afford.
He paused there in the center of the room, the moonlight highlighting his bare chest. The moonlight had always been his friend, a muted color of peace and silence. Tonight, the moon seemed mocking in its romantic glow. He’d had to watch Charlotte die in the sunlight, watch the blood drain from her body, leaving her pale, gone. His cries of mercy unanswered. It was at that moment, when she’d taken her last breath, that he realized he was on this earth alone. No one would help him survive. Even the Seers, sent to work here with him, would come and go.
With slow dips, he twirled the sword round and round in practiced movements he’d had years to perfect. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to touch her, thinking that if he could only place his palm over her heart, he would understand this insane need. Yet, he knew he couldn’t. If he went to her, she’d want more, like most mortal women did. If he went to her he’d have to explain his actions, and how could he explain something he didn’t understand?
“You could help,” he grumbled, looking toward the heavens.
Of course no answer came.
“Bastard,” Cristian whispered, slicing his blade through the air and cutting down some imaginary foe.
A sudden tenseness coursed through his body, vibrating his very soul…a warning. Moments later, he felt her presence, hesitating outside the door. Cristian froze, his heart slamming erratically against his ribcage. He could disappear. In the blink of an eye, he could be gone and she’d merely think she’d heard the creak of floorboards, the house settling.
The door opened.
Cristian stood his ground, his back to her. Hell, he needed to see her. Of course she noticed him in the moonlight, for the eerie glow shimmered over the blade of the sword he held, the same sword she’d touched. He swore he could still feel her aura on the hilt.
She sucked in a sharp breath, surprise and something else…dare he think desire… mingled in that sound. He waited for her to demand answers, instead she remained silent. Fine then. Silence it was.
Intent on ignoring her, he started moving in long fluid movements. Almost like a dance, he spun, slicing the sword through the air with a swoosh. The blade flashed and sparked, catching the moonlight with each twirl. Practiced movements. Movements he’d known for centuries, yet hadn’t used in years. His muscles flexed— bunching with each step. Focus, he told himself, focus. Yet a part of his mind and body remained on her. Always her.
He knew when she drew breath. He knew when her heart skipped a beat. He knew when she stepped further into the room…unafraid, too curious for her own damn good. Why couldn’t she leave him in peace? Why couldn’t he forget her and focus on his mission?
Annoyed by her persistence and those beautiful hazel eyes, he didn’t pause, but continued to flip and twirl, slicing that sword through the air and landing on the balls of his feet like a cat. With each flip, each step closer to her, his anger mounted. He had enough problems to deal with, he didn’t need to add this sin to the list. Was it one final test from above? He wouldn’t be surprised.
He faced the window
s, watching her from the corner of his eye. Not daring to look directly at her for fear he’d fall under some inescapable spell. She flattened herself against the wall, her breathing harsh. Finally, her fear had overtaken curiosity. He lowered his arms and he knew the moonlight hit his back. He knew what she would see, but still he didn’t move. Hell, perhaps a part of him was tired of the secrets, wished she’d uncovered the truth about him, about her.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her reach forward as if she would touch the tattoo of those huge, intricate wings on each side of his back. She was too far away to reach him, but he felt her fingers all the same. He knew, deep down, if she touched him, it would be the end of life as he knew it.
He flipped around to face her, landing only feet away. She sucked in her breath as the sword rested only inches from her neck. The blade didn’t tremble, he had complete control, yet she didn’t need to know that. She wore only a white nightgown that ended at her knees, held together with thin straps at her shoulders. Her hair hung in rich waves down her back.
“Ye shouldn’t sneak up on a person,” he said, staring hard into her eyes.
She glared up at him. He was blocking her exit. She couldn’t leave unless he moved. “I couldn’t sleep. I had a nightmare.”
He stiffened, his mind spinning. “What?”
She swallowed hard and even in the moonlight he could see her face was pale. “A nightmare. I was in the basement…” She pressed a trembling hand to her brow and closed her eyes for one brief moment as if the memory was too difficult to relive. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
A shiver of unease raised the fine hairs on his body. Had he been in her dream? Or worse, had he somehow conjured her into his dream? As the shock gave way, guilt surged forward. Were they so connected that he’d pulled her into his nightmare? He could have stopped it all if he’d found her in that tunnel. It was his duty to protect her, after all. Lord, she had to leave.
The Ghost Hunter Page 9