Pushing his hands into his pockets, he propped a shoulder against the metal wall, and said, “Your sister and some of the others in our unit are starting to think the curse might finally be coming to an end.”
Of all the things he could have said, that was the last one she expected. “What? Why?”
“Because of Jamie.”
Shaking her head, she said, “Jamie? I don’t understand.”
“Did Raine tell you about the attack that was made on our group when we were trying to reach Harrow House?”
“No.”
He nodded as if that was the answer he’d expected. “She probably didn’t want to worry you.”
“Why would it worry me?” Her voice was rising. “What happened?”
“We were outnumbered, and things were looking pretty grim. Then your niece went all X-Files and started glowing with this strange light, power arcing from her like a generator. Next thing we knew, she’d turned the bad guys against each other, and we were able to escape.”
Shock roughened her voice. “She saved you?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up with a wry grin. “Believe it or not, we all owe our lives to the little runt. She is one serious little badass.”
“But…why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I didn’t want you to worry about her,” he said in a low voice, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s been fine since that night.”
“And you think this means the curse might be ending?” she asked, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.
“That’s what the others have speculated. And then there’s your awakening.”
“I don’t understand,” she repeated.
“Chloe, if Westmore took you to get at Gregory, then that means his return started your awakening months ago. I know you’re in rough shape, but you’re still sane. Still breathing. I don’t see how that could be possible, unless your true Mallory powers, the ones the curse would have bound, weren’t somehow working to keep you alive. They might not be very strong yet, but they’ve kept you from fading away.”
She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at a distant point on the cold gray floor, thinking over everything that he’d said, her chest rising and falling with the slow, deep cadence of her breathing. When she finally forced her gaze back to his, she asked, “Are you attracted to me, Kellan?”
The heat in his eyes should have melted her on the spot. “I’d think that’s fairly obvious, considering how I can’t stay away from you.”
“Then it’s still working. It has to be.”
He pushed away from the wall, frustration riding him hard. “Christ, Chloe. Why are you being so fucking stubborn about this? Is it so hard for you to believe I could want you for you alone, without the influence of that bloody curse screwing with my mind?”
“To be honest, yes. It is,” she told him, lifting her chin. “And I don’t feel any different. If what you’ve said is true, I think I would have felt the curse weakening, and I haven’t.”
The thick, ropy muscles across his shoulders and in his arms bunched with tension. “You’re also under a lot of stress,” he argued, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “And the Merrick’s giving you so much shit, I doubt you’d be aware of any changes that could be caused by the curse fading.”
Refusing to agree with him, she said, “I still say it’s the curse.”
“Yeah?” His brows lifted with an arrogant arch. “Well, I still say that you’re full of it.”
“Weren’t you leaving?” she snapped.
“Yeah, I’ll go, for now—” he moved toward her “—if you give me a kiss.”
“You’re mad,” she said hoarsely, holding her hands up in front of her, while desire settled like a molten flame in the core of her belly. “And I don’t mean angry, Kellan. I’m talking off your rocker. One egg short of a dozen!”
Though the corner of his mouth twitched, he didn’t laugh, his voice a dark, sexy rumble as he said, “Just a kiss, Chloe.”
“Why?” she whispered, forced to crane her head back as he came even closer, her hands flattening against the hot skin stretched over all those rock-hard, breathtaking abs.
The smoldering heat in his eyes stole her breath. “Because I can’t stop thinking about how you felt. How sweet you tasted. Because touching you yesterday felt better than anything has felt in…hell, since as far back as I can remember.”
She wouldn’t have thought it was possible to feel this miserable and excited all at the same time. “That’s what I mean, Kellan. It’s the curse. It’s drawing you to me. Making you do things.”
He covered the last few inches that separated them, trapping her against the iron bars of the cell, his hands wrapping around the cold metal on either side of her head, caging her in. “If it was making me do things,” he said in a rough voice, staring deep into her eyes, “then we both know that I’d be inside you right now, little witch. Because that’s where you want me. And it’s where I wanna be. But I’m forcing myself to settle for a kiss.”
“Do you enjoy torturing me?” Hoarse words, almost too soft to hear.
Lust hardened his features, and she felt the tremor that pulsed through all those deliciously hard, ripped muscles. “Trust me, kitten. I’m hurting a helluva lot worse than you are.”
“Spark called me kitten.”
“I know.” A low laugh slid lazily from his lips as he pressed them to the apple of her cheek. “I think it’s kinda cute.”
Chloe started to argue, but he stopped her with his mouth, the kiss raw and deliciously explicit, his tongue rubbing against hers in a way that made some kind of purring noise crawl up the back of her throat, his answering growl the sexiest thing she’d ever heard. It melted her bones, her brain, pulling rough cries up from the core of her body. He ate at the husky sounds, the heavy ridge of his cock pressed hard against her belly. The iron bars dug into her back as the kiss turned rougher…rawer, biting and wet and utterly devastating. Just when she could tell he was on the verge of completely losing it, he tore his mouth from hers.
“See?” he rasped, working hard to catch his breath as he rested his cheek against the top of her head, his hands still wrapped around the bars so tightly, she was surprised they hadn’t snapped. “No harm, no foul.”
“Do you know what I’ve never been able to stand?” she asked unsteadily, shaking with hunger and lust and a mass of confusion. “Men who think they know everything. Who get off on making a woman feel weak.”
He snorted as he pulled his head back enough that he could look down into her face. “I don’t think there’s anything weak about you,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing the kiss-swollen corner of her mouth as he cupped the side of her face with his hand. “Hell, you terrify me every time you open your mouth. I never know what’s going to come out. Another insult? Another demand to fuck you? To leave you alone? You keep my head spinning, lady.”
The words suggested frustration, as well as a wealth of irritation.
But the sin-tipped smile on the Lycan’s face as he turned to leave almost looked as if he was actually enjoying the ride.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Auvergne province, France
Monday, 10:00 p.m.
PARTNERED UP WITH TWO bloodsucking vampires.
Friggin’ unbelievable.
Six months ago, if anyone had tried to tell him that this was what his future held, Seth McConnell would have told them they needed to get their heads checked. Because six months ago, if he’d come face-to-face with two male vampires in the middle of the night, he’d have done his best to separate their heads from their shoulders, considering that was the only foolproof way to kill a Deschanel. If you got a blade across a Lycanthrope’s gut, that would usually do them in—but vamps could more often than not heal from any knife wound. And while burning a witch usually insured they would no longer be around, vamps could survive the flames.
No, if you wanted to kill a bloodsucker, it had to be a swift, clean severing of their h
ead from their shoulders. As a former Lieutenant Colonel in the Collective Army, Seth had made such kills more than once—and he’d have probably kept on making them, if it hadn’t been for the return of the Casus.
Though Seth should have been the enemy of those he was now working with, fate had other plans. In an ironic twist, Seth, along with a small group of Collective soldiers who’d remained loyal to him, were now fighting alongside the Watchmen and the Merrick. The disillusioned officer had broken ranks with the Army when he learned that the Collective Generals had made a deal with the Casus and their allies. Because of that deal, Seth’s eyes had finally been opened to the ugly truth about the beliefs he’d devoted his entire adult life to—and now he was here, collaborating with two men who drank blood to survive.
It was a surreal situation for the soldier to find himself in, and yet, he’d have been lying if he said he didn’t feel more at peace with his actions than he had in years.
After spending the past week in the States, Seth and his second-in-command, Tyler Garrick, had just flown into Brussels that morning, where they’d met up with Michael Quinn, a Watchman Seth inherently trusted despite their complicated history together. While most of the other men in Quinn’s unit had headed directly into the Wasteland to meet up with Kierland Scott, who was running surveillance on the compound where his brother was imprisoned, Quinn had stayed behind to help the Granger brothers investigate an important lead. Once they were done, they’d all be heading into the Wasteland together, hurrying to meet up with the others.
When Quinn had met Seth and Garrick at the airport, the tall, dark-eyed Watchman had expressed concern about Seth working with the Grangers, knowing that he’d long held a personal hatred against the Deschanel, since it was a rogue nest of vampires who had slaughtered Seth’s family when he was only fifteen—which had been his impetus for joining the Collective. As Förmyndares, or Protectors of the Deschanel clan, the Grangers were some serious badasses, but they’d proven their loyalty to the Watchmen’s cause in the past weeks, and so Seth had promised Quinn that he would get along with the vampires and wouldn’t cause any trouble. A good thing, too, since it looked as if there was already more than enough trouble to go around.
While Ashe Granger, the older brother, had spent the past week helping Kierland Scott and a female Watchman named Morgan Cantrell search for Kierland’s brother in the Wasteland, Gideon had been following a disturbing lead on the Death-Walkers.
As if this screwed-up conflict actually needed another element of the bizarre, the Watchmen had discovered the existence of the Death-Walkers back in December, when Aiden Shrader had been trying to protect little Jamie Harcourt from being kidnapped by the Casus. Thanks to Gideon Granger, who’d tapped his connections within the Deschanel Court, they’d learned that when a Casus was killed with a Dark Marker, a portal opened into the part of hell that held the tainted souls of the ancient clans. As Gideon had apparently put it, “Whenever a door opens, there’s always the chance that something else might leak out.” In this case, those “somethings” were the Death-Walkers, and they were causing a hell of a lot of trouble.
Seth had yet to face off against the vile bastards since they were specifically targeting the Watchmen at the moment, their plan to remove the shape-shifters who kept peace among the various clans and create a time of chaos…then eventually spread that chaos through the world, simply because it sounded like fun to their warped psyches. Their time in hell had demented their minds, and Seth didn’t doubt the danger they posed. A danger that was mounting, now that they’d followed Gideon’s lead to this remote human village in the French countryside.
Just before Kierland and Morgan had set off into the Wasteland, Gideon had left word for them that he’d stumbled onto something big, saying that he needed to check it out. After following his lead for the past week, he’d finally discovered where some of the Death-Walkers could be found, and so he’d brought Seth and the others to the village with the intent of finding out just what the deranged creatures were up to.
They’d already found forty or so dead bodies strewn along the cobblestone road that led into the rustic village that was buried within acres of farmland, the corpses drained and mutilated with savage bite marks, reminding Seth of rogue Deschanel kills. The village itself, however, appeared to be barren, not a soul in sight, and Seth didn’t have a good feeling about what they were going to find. They needed to do a sweep of the streets, but at the moment they were gathered on a small hill that rose at the outskirts of the village, trying to gather more intel before rushing into God-only-knew what kind of situation.
While Seth, Garrick and Quinn waited in the freezing shadows of a gnarled oak tree, the Grangers had climbed up into its sprawling limbs, trying to get a better view into the heart of the moonlit village. The two brothers were similar in appearance, attractive in that cold, deadly way that only a vampire could be, and Seth had no doubt they were popular with females of every species. He could hear them talking as they surveyed the village buildings and streets through high-tech binoculars, searching for any signs of life.
“So,” Gideon murmured. “You doing okay, man?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ashe replied, his offhand tone suggesting that his focus was clearly on what he was doing and not the conversation.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because the woman you’ve been hung up on for the past decade is now mated to a guy you used to say was the biggest prick you’d ever met? I know you’re tough, but hell, Ashe, that has to sting.”
Seth inwardly cringed at Gideon’s blunt words. The others had filled him in on the turbulent history between Ashe and Morgan Cantrell, as well as Kierland Scott, who had wanted Morgan for himself. Though Ashe and Morgan had been a couple, they’d broken up and remained close friends, and it was actually Ashe who had helped Morgan and Kierland make their way into the Wasteland so that they could track Kierland’s brother. During the trip, Kierland had finally admitted his feelings and claimed Morgan as his mate—a fact that Gideon obviously thought was going to have an effect on his older brother.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ashe muttered, sounding as if he’d rather have bamboo shoots jabbed under his fingernails than discuss what had happened.
“Yeah?” Gideon murmured. “Then enlighten me.”
“I love Morgan as a friend.” Ashe’s words were thick with irritation. “And I’m happy as hell that she’s got what she always wanted. So drop it, Gid.”
With a sharp sigh, the vampire said, “If that’s true, then you’re a better guy than I am.”
His brother snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“So, I guess you’re just going to keep sleeping your way through—”
“Not to be rude,” Quinn barked at them, cutting Gideon off, “but what the hell are we waiting for?”
With that same deceptively lazy, animal-like grace inherent in all the Deschanel, Gideon dropped out of the tree, landing effortlessly on the balls of his feet beside Quinn. “Remember when I told you we were coming here to confirm a rumor I’d heard?”
“Yeah. But you still haven’t shared that rumor.” It was clear from the Watchman’s tone that he was losing his patience.
Holding Quinn’s dark stare, the gray-eyed vampire said, “While I was slumming through the Deschanel Court, hunting down info on the Death-Walkers, I heard something that creeped the hell out of me. Rumors that the Death-Walkers were going to start making their own little army. And down in that village is the proof that what I heard was true.” He handed over the binoculars. “Look for yourself.”
A handful of seconds later, with the binoculars still plastered to his eyes, Quinn sounded surprised as he demanded, “What in the hell are those things?”
Ashe dropped out of the tree near Seth, his expression as grim as his tone. “Our newest nightmare.”
“They look like some kind of…zombie.”
“Oh hell.” The milky wash of moonlight revealed Garrick’s
scowl as he lowered his own binoculars. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my life, but this kind of shit’s just not right.”
Grabbing Garrick’s binoculars, Seth focused the lenses on the village down below, and felt his heart drop into his stomach. Nearly twenty human males were shuffling down the center of the main road, their skin waxen in the moonlight, mottled with what looked like yellowish bruises. Dark eyes appeared sunken within their gaunt faces, the surrounding skin blackened, almost as if it’d been burned. Their lips were surrounded by similar black markings, their mouths hanging open like gaping maws, lips and chins covered with blood, as if they’d eaten something raw. Instead of struggling to escape, they appeared to be following whatever orders were given, their bodies moving with a slow, sluggish rhythm, their hands bound behind their backs.
The humans were being herded by two Death-Walkers who flanked the group, the spectral beings every bit as grotesque as the Watchmen had described them. The creatures had cadaverously pale, hairless bodies, with small horns protruding from their temples and sinister-looking claws and fangs, their long, unclothed forms floating eerily over the ground. Since the Death-Walkers consisted of all hell-bound clansmen, their original species varied. From what Seth could tell, the two creatures down in the village had once been Deuchar, one of the most violent of the ancient clans, and a mortal enemy of the Shaevan. But while stabbing a knife through their temple could kill the Deuchar, these assholes had been to hell and back, which changed the rules. Though Gideon had been working hard to come up with the answer, they still didn’t know how to kill a Death-Walker. They did, however, know that a combination of salt and holy water gave them a bitch of a burn, sending them scurrying for cover, which was why all of his companions were carrying flasks of the solution.
“I hate to say it,” Quinn said, still staring through the binoculars, “but those Death-Walkers look meatier than the last ones I saw.”
“What’s the plan?”
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