EDGE OF NIGHT

by Rae Morgan, Emma Sinclair, Sherrill Quinn

  "What the fuck!" The hitman's voice was strained and fearful as he yanked on the front door. The door swung open, bouncing off the wall, falling from its one remaining hinge to crash onto the floor. The footsteps of the fleeing gunman faded and then she heard the screech of tires pulling away.

  The tall man in front of her slumped, bracing himself with his hands on his bent thighs as he drew in deep breaths. Oscar went to him, putting one paw on the man's calf and whining softly.

  Bree pushed herself to her feet. She clenched her fists and tried to calm her breathing. Having someone pop up in front of her out of thin air wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence, and she was trying very hard not to freak out.

  He brought one hand up to his face as he straightened and then slowly turned to face her.

  Her breath hitched in her throat. There was a streak of blood across his right cheek, the gash from the bullet raw and angry looking. As she watched, the wound knitted over and healed.

  Completely.

  She backed up until she slammed against the wall. She held out one hand and motioned to the dog. "Oscar!" When the bulldog ignored her and pranced around the feet of the man, Bree quavered, "Who are you?"

  Perhaps the better question would be What are you? But she wasn't ready for an answer to that one. Not yet.

  He glanced at the dog nattering at his feet and an expression somewhere between disbelief and chagrin passed over his handsome features. When he looked at her, his hazel eyes held warm humor. "Who's my new friend?" he asked, his tone wry and holding a hint of an accent that made her think of dark, sultry Parisian nights.

  The terror of the evening—the strangeness of his arrival—seemed surreal. The adrenaline rush eased now that the danger seemed to be over, and she swayed, lightheaded.

  "Whoa!" Her savior leapt forward and his big hands caught her as she stumbled. Strong arms swept her up, and he carried her over to the sofa and laid her down gently.

  Oscar whined and propped himself up with his front paws on the edge of the cushions. Bree touched the side of his face, smiling faintly when he swiped her fingers with his tongue. She didn't even realize the man had left her side until he reappeared with a glass of water.

  "Drink this." He put his free hand under her neck and lifted her head, pressing the glass to her lips.

  After a few sips, she waved the glass away, and he set it on the end table.

  Oscar snuffled against the man's thigh and then laid his head on Bree's shoulder.

  "You didn't answer my question," she murmured, and raised her gaze to his face. He seemed normal enough. His angular features, combined with a slim nose and sensual lips gave him a classically handsome look.

  "What question was that?"

  "Who are you?" And then she asked the question burning in her mind. "What are you?"

  Jack stared at the young woman before him and tried to think of an answer. He'd already broken Rule Number Five of the Protector Guild: Do not let your charge see you.

  Of course, he'd never much cared for the rules anyway. As he recalled it, he hadn't been given much choice about being a Protector. After Lilith had made him a monster, he'd feasted on humans whenever and wherever he pleased. When his existence as a vampire had ended with a wooden stake to his heart only fifty years after he'd been transformed, the archangel Michael had appeared to him, offering him salvation from certain damnation.

  Go to hell, or take a job protecting innocents. No choice there, not really.

  And so, for almost a hundred and fifty years now, he'd taken on charge after charge, seeing to their safety, and remaining unknown to them.

  Until now.

  He wasn't sure what had prompted him to take on his corporeal form and become visible, except for the certainty he'd felt that the man with the gun would have reloaded and kept firing and, eventually, a stray bullet could have struck Brianna.

  That, he couldn't have. He'd been watching over her for weeks now, always silent, at a distance, moving closer only when the danger had escalated. This world was a better place for having her in it, and he meant to keep it that way.

  And this wasn't the first time he'd taken a bullet, although he didn't remember it hurting quite this much. It certainly wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat any time soon. Which meant...

  "We need to get out of here," he said.

  Bree sat up and swung her feet to the floor. Jack was relieved to see the color had returned to her face, though his relief turned to irritation when he saw her stubbornly shaking her head.

  "Not 'til you answer my questions," she said.

  Her light blue eyes looked huge in her elfin face. The freckles across the bridge of her nose weren't as prominent now that she had some red in her cheeks, though he didn't appreciate that the red was there because she was getting her spirit back.

  He didn't need her to be feisty. He needed her to cooperate.

  What the hell was he supposed to do now? There was always the option of using his powers of persuasion—both from his abilities as a Protector and the natural magic of the vampire—to... encourage her to leave with him. But ever since he'd become a Protector, he didn’t like imposing his will on others. He'd done too much of that during those dark years after Lilith turned him.

  Not caring that Rule Number Nine was No cursing, Jack sighed and scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck, muttering another curse.

  "That hitman could come back at any time," he said, his voice hard with urgency. "We need to go."

  Bree wavered for a moment, indecision reflected in her eyes. Her gaze roamed over him, lingering on his cheek, and he could see she was remembering how the wound had healed. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  There was no help for it. He had to tell her something to get her moving. While he could just toss her over his shoulder and be done with it, it wouldn't engender her trust. And he needed her to trust him. Otherwise, his job of protecting her would be that much more difficult.

  "My name is Jacques Gerrard," he said. "You can call me Jack. I'm your Protector."

  He held out his hand to help her off the sofa. She ignored it and got to her feet. Bending to pat the bulldog, she glanced up at him, a scowl tugging at the muscles between her brows. "What do you mean, you're my protector?" Her frown deepened. "Is that like a guardian angel?"

  "Do I look like an angel to you?" He propped his fists on his hips and scowled.

  He sure as hell wasn't sporting wings. Dressed as he was in a navy blue fisherman's sweater, leather jacket and jeans with black thick-soled boots on his feet, he had no idea how she could even begin to think of him as an angel.

  He was a vampire, for Christ's sake.

  A sharp reprimand echoed through his brain, making him wince. Rule Number One: Do not take the Lord's name in vain.

  Bree bit her lower lip, her gaze skating over him. "N-no," she whispered, "You don't look like an angel. At least, you don't look like how I imagined they would look." When she lifted her eyes back to his face, Jack was chagrined to see a sheen of tears shining in their depths.

  He'd done that to her. She was coping with the situation the best she could, and he'd gone and acted like a ball-busting jerk. Gerrard, you're such an ass.

  He sighed and rubbed two fingers over one eyebrow. Bending, he picked up her purse and started stuffing the contents back inside. "Protectors are... humans, more or less, who have died and have need of redemption before their judgment is pronounced. They can choose to become a Protector, or they can accept their judgment."

  Her sky blue eyes were wide. "By accepting their judgment, you mean... "

  "They can go to hell." He straightened and shrugged. "I wasn't ready for that, so here I am."

  She studied him, her teeth worrying her lower lip. Jack couldn't make himself look away from that mouth, that sultry, siren mouth of hers. He was so focused he didn't hear her until she said, "Um, hello?"

  His gaze shot up to hers.

  "I said, you told me Protectors are humans, more
or less. What exactly did you mean by that?"

  Merde. The one question he really didn't want to answer.

  "Well?"

  Jack hesitated. He handed her the purse, which she took. A warm body pressing against his calf made him look down into the adoring eyes of her bulldog. When the dog saw he had Jack's attention, he woofed and wagged his tail.

  Really, it was more of a butt-wag, with that little stub of a tail. At least the dog trusted him, which in his experience, was rare. Most animals seemed to sense his true nature and stayed as far away from him as possible.

  He went down on his haunches and scratched behind the dog's ear. Oscar woofed. Planting his paws on Jack's thigh, he swiped his tongue down Jack's cheek.

  "Mr. Gerrard! Please!"

  Jack looked up to see Bree's anxious expression begin to turn into an irritated one. Damn, but she was beautiful. His cock noticed, too, and thickened against his thigh. With widened eyes, he stared down at the outline of his unruly prick under his jeans, and wondered what the fuck was going on.

  Since when did an ethereal being like a Protector go around getting a hard-on?

  "Mr. Gerrard!"

  "Good boy," he muttered to the dog. Standing, he stared at her a moment, then shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping he could disguise his burgeoning erection. He sighed. "Look, I'll be more than happy to explain on the way. If you want to live, come with me. Now. You can walk outta here, or I can carry you."

  "Oscar would... "

  They both looked down at his leg, which the dog was merrily humping. "Oh, for crying out loud," Jack muttered.

  He heard a stifled laugh, but when he looked at her, she wore a sober expression.

  "He only does that to people he really likes," Bree murmured. Her gaze turned wondering, thoughtful. Then, seemingly coming to a decision, she nodded briskly. "Fine. Let's go. But you'd better answer my question."

  He inclined his head. Immensely glad he was no longer able to blush, he lifted his leg—and the dog—and said, "Would you please get him off me?"

  She pressed her lips together, and he was sure she was fighting a grin. "Come on, baby. We're going for a ride."

  Oscar yipped and let go of Jack. The dog pranced to the door and looked back at them over his shoulder as if asking, What's taking you so long?

  Jack walked out of the house first, holding her back with one hand as he searched the area. Then he went forward, saying, "You drive. I'll give you directions."

  "What kind of protector doesn't have a car?"

  Sass. Now she was sassing him.

  "Protectors don't usually own things, Bree. We protect our charge, then we move onto the next assignment."

  Bree opened the back door and Oscar clamored inside the car. She closed the door behind him and then got in behind the wheel. Once Jack had climbed in the passenger side and the doors were closed, she flipped the automatic locks and started the car. He gave her directions, heading south out of town.

  They'd driven for about five minutes when she started drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. "Okay, Jack. Answer my question. What did you mean, 'more or less'?" Bree waited anxiously. His obvious prevarication was making her crazy. And more and more scared.

  Had she traded one devil for another?

  Although, she would admit, he was a handsome devil. His eyes were a light brown with flecks of green, reminding her of a great big cat. Black hair was caught at the nape of his neck in a ponytail. Sensual lips beckoned her to sample their decadent surface. And she'd noticed his erection just before he'd jammed his hands in his pockets.

  Holy Hannah. She hadn't been so tempted to jump a man's bones in a very long time, but she restrained herself. Barely.

  If he didn't answer her question, she might jump him anyway, just to pummel the information out of him.

  His sigh was heavy. He held up a hand, palm facing her. "Okay. Just... don't freak out, all right?" He sighed again and then muttered something she didn't hear.

  "What?"

  He scowled. "I'm a vampire."

  She hit the brakes out of reflex, barely missing being rear-ended by the car behind them. The other driver blew his horn and pulled around her car, the way he accelerated showing his aggravation.

  Bree glanced at Jack. Okay. Not the answer she was expecting. Not an answer she believed. While she could stretch her imagination enough to believe that guardian angels—or Protectors, whatever they were called—were real, she wasn't ready to believe that all those things that went bump in the night were, too.

  She eased the car to the side of the road. "Pull the other one," she muttered. But, just to be on the safe side... She sidled closer to the door and curled her fingers over the handle.

  She looked over at the man who claimed he was a vampire. She'd had enough. First, a gunman tried to kill her—twice—now here this guy was, looking all sexy and gorgeous, telling her he’s a vampire. Men.

  "I can prove it," he said, resignation in his deep voice.

  Bree drew in a deep breath and held it a moment. She swallowed, hard. But she wasn't going to back down. Not now. "Prove it then."

  "Reduced to parlor tricks," he muttered, shaking his head and looking down at the floorboard. "Lilith would laugh her ass off."

  Before she could ask who the hell Lilith was and why she would care one way or the other, he looked up at her. His eyes glowed with silver fire and long, white fangs protruded over his lower lip.

  Bree yelled and crowded against the door. She pulled on the door handle, sobbing when the door wouldn't open. Then she remembered she'd locked the doors. She pushed up the latch, but before she could hurl open the door, big hands caught her.

  She screamed and struggled against him. "Let me go!"

  His lips moved, but her heartbeat roared in her ears, drowning out his words. She kept fighting his hold until he lifted one hand and lightly slapped her on the cheek.

  She blinked at him, shocked. She'd never been slapped in her life. It got her attention.

  His face was once again normal, his eyes a tawny brown. No silver or fangs to be seen.

  "I'm sorry about that. You need to understand that I'm not going to hurt you, Brianna." His voice was as harsh as his hands were gentle. "I saved you from the hitman, remember? I'm here to protect you."

  When she didn't answer right away, he wheedled, "Your dog likes me. Look." He reached over the back seat and Oscar shoved his head under Jack's hand. Jack grimaced as the dog's slobber slimed over his palm.

  She had to agree with him. Oscar did like Jack. Her heart rate slowed and her breath steadied, though she kept her palms planted firmly on Jack's heavily muscled chest. He was a vampire, after all.

  "Oh, for Christ's sake," he muttered, and winced. He let go of her and held up his hands in surrender.

  Yeah, like she'd fall for that.

  "I'm here to protect you. Pro-tect," he enunciated as if she were dim-witted. "And we need to get away from here before Ernie remembers he has balls and tracks us to finish the job."

  "Ernie? Oh, the hitman." Bree leaned against the car door and crossed her arms. "Look, it's not like I want him to find me. But I'm not going any farther with you. Especially if you're gonna treat me like a nitwit."

  She stared at him, wondering at her absence of fear. Looking at the disgruntled look on Jack's face, she knew why she was no longer afraid of him.

  It was hard to be fearful of a vampire who pouted. She just wasn't scared of him. Somehow, she felt he wouldn't hurt her. After all, hadn't he just saved her life? He could have sucked her dry by now if he'd meant to kill her. She really believed she could trust him to keep her safe.

  She only hoped he wouldn't prove her wrong.

  Chapter Four

  "Do it again."

  Jack gritted his teeth and turned his head to stare at Bree as she sat beside him on the couch in the living room of a hunting lodge. He’d brought her here to West Virginia, knowing the small cabin would be unoccupied. Every now and then she’d ask h
im to go into his "vampire mode" and, when he did, she'd reach over and prod at his face. A few times, she touched the tip of her index finger to his fangs, frowning at their sharpness.

  Oscar lay at their feet, his big head on his paws, eyes closed. His ears twitched as they talked, so the dog was clearly keeping track of them. But other than to yawn and lick his chops now and then, he wasn't moving.

  At least the damned mutt wasn't trying to hump his leg again.

  The dog clearly felt he was no threat. It was readily apparent Oscar's owner didn't, either.

  "I'm not some kind of performing monkey," Jack muttered. He let just enough of the vampire show to make his eyes burn.

  His plan had been to renew her fear so she'd stop bugging him. He hadn't meant to entertain her. By the way she clapped her hands together and gave a little squeal, he knew he'd failed at one and succeeded at the other.

  "Your eyes look so spooky when they go all silver like that." Bree leaned in and studied him more closely.

  He sighed and leaned back against the sofa. "I thought you were scared of me."

  "I was," she responded readily enough. "Until you pouted. Bad-ass vampires don't pout."

  "I do not pout." A growl left his throat. "And I am a bad-ass. I am," he stressed when she looked at him with an expression of exaggerated disbelief. "Besides, how many vampires have you seen? Real ones," he added as she started to respond.

  Her lips clamped shut and he knew his instincts had been right. She'd been about to spout off some tripe concerning movie vampires.

  Bree huffed a sigh. "Well, all right then. So I don't know any other vampires. But it seems to me they wouldn't pout."

  "I wasn't... Mon Dieu!" Ignoring the spike of reprimand that pulsed through his skull, Jack pushed to his feet and paced to the large fireplace. The heat from the fire warmed his skin, reminding him of the unnatural coldness of his body.

  Lilith lied when she’d assured him he'd never feel cold again. It was the first—but not the last—lie she'd told him.