by Cynthia Eden
Red stained his cheeks. His pupils dilated as she watched. And his lips gleamed with a faint sheen of moisture.
Cara fought for sanity once more. “No, I-I can’t—”
In a instant, he tumbled her back onto the bed. “It’s a dream, baby. We can do anything.” He kissed her again. A kiss so sweet and soft that she swore she felt her eyes fill.
If only . . .
But some dreams could turn into nightmares far too easily, and if they didn’t stop soon, Todd would learn that lesson. Every moment she stayed with him, she was stealing a little of his life force. Taking a bit of his power as she stole into his mind.
She’d sworn not to take from a lover again.
Damn it, she hated to take!
It reminded her that she was little more than a parasite, living off the power and pleasure of others.
Her hands lifted, caught his face in her palms. She wanted to keep kissing him, to let the passion rage.
Not a choice for her.
His head lifted. His gaze met hers. “You feel so real.”
Her lips curved in a smile she knew was sad. “Close your eyes for me.”
He obeyed at once, but then, she’d put force into her voice, a compulsion he couldn’t resist. Humans were always at their weakest in the dream state.
Her index finger smoothed over his lips. Then she tilted her head, just a few inches, and urged his mouth back to hers. His lips were parted as he readied to kiss her—
She blew a light stream of air into his mouth. A soft, sweet stream that she knew would taste of magic.
His eyes opened, bleary, confused.
“Sleep,” she whispered the command.
Then she closed her own eyes, and left the dream.
“Oh, damn.” Cara’s eyes jerked open and she glared up at the ceiling.
What in the world had just happened?
A walk in dreams. She hadn’t snuck into a man’s dreams in over five years. She’d vowed never to enter without permission again.
Then she’d gone and plunged straight into Todd’s head.
Damn.
Jumping from the bed, she ran toward her mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes wide, hair tangled, skin faintly glowing.
Glowing. Crap. She’d taken from him. Stolen his power as her spirit had seduced his body.
Her head began to shake. A hard back-and-forth motion. She’d taken, and he’d awaken weak now.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” she whispered, confessing to an image that just stared helplessly back at her. Dreamwalking took focus, intent—hell, often a meditative state. Stealing into the dreams of others was a skill that succubi didn’t master until well after sexual maturity. It was one of their greatest weapons, and by far one of the most dangerous.
Cara swallowed and tasted the ash of guilt on her tongue. She’d been dead tired, certainly not possessing the strength needed to slip into a human’s secret dreams. She never should have been able to cross the miles and find Todd’s mind.
It shouldn’t have happened, but it had.
She’d just have to make absolutely certain it didn’t happen again, because, if it did, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to hold on to her control.
The temptation to take the handsome detective was just too strong.
“Shit!” Todd woke up, instantly and completely conscious.
Damn it, he was alone.
His hands fisted over the sheets. He could have sworn that Cara was with him. Holding him. Kissing him.
A dull ache pounded in his temples as he rose from the bed. Not enough sleep, he figured, glancing at the clock to find out that he’d been in bed a total of four hours.
Not nearly long enough.
He ran a hand over his face, and, for a second, he could have sworn that he smelled her.
Cara.
The woman was seriously fucking him up. The last time he’d had a dream that hot about a woman—well, hell, he didn’t think he’d ever had a dream that intense.
He could still feel her satiny skin beneath his fingertips, still feel the curves of her breasts.
His cock was hard and heavy with need. A need that he knew only one woman could slake.
Shit.
Todd headed for the bathroom. He needed a cold shower. It would wake him up and chase the woman from his mind.
He yanked on the water, sending the powerful stream jetting full blast, then he stepped back, caught the flash of his reflection in the mirror—
He frowned. What the hell?
His gaze swept past the faint scars on his chest and side. Instead, his stare dropped down to his left arm. His eyes narrowed as he studied the five small half-moon marks on his flesh. Wounds that looked just like they’d been made by a woman’s nails.
“No damn way.” He lifted his right arm. Studied the biceps. Saw the same small wounds.
In his dream, Cara’s fingers had bit into the flesh of his arms as she’d held tight to him. Her nails had pierced his skin and he’d been aware of the faint sting, and of the pleasure of feeling her hips press against his.
But that had just been a dream. A hot fantasy that followed him while he slept.
He ran his fingers over the marks. Felt the raised skin.
“No damn way,” he repeated, even as a wave of unease rippled through him.
No other woman had caused the wounds. He’d stopped seeing his last lover, another cop at the precinct, just over a month before.
His stomach knotted. So how the hell had he gotten a woman’s scratch marks on his arms?
Cara.
Chapter 4
The lady’s alibis checked out.
Part of Todd was thrilled by that news—a very, very large part—because the confirmation meant that the delectable Cara was now fair game for him.
Another part was seriously pissed, and worried. If Cara wasn’t the killer, then the murderer had set her up. No other explanation jived for him.
A killer who liked to play games—damn bad news.
It was Wednesday night. It had been two days since he’d last seen Cara, since he’d gotten to touch those perfect lips and feel her soft tongue stroke against his.
He’d stayed away, knowing he had to keep his distance until he verified her alibis for the murders. Sex with a suspect wasn’t something he particularly wanted complicating his life.
But the lady had been cleared now.
According to Colin, five waitresses and two bartenders had placed Cara at Paradise Found right at the time of the first two kills. And one very nosy, sharp-eyed, elderly neighbor had backed up her story about being home alone during the time of House’s murder.
Ms. Murphy, former schoolteacher and extreme art enthusiast—judging by the dozens of canvases in her den—had cheerfully told him that “I saw her come racing home right after five. In that bright red car of hers. Went in, stayed in.” A beetled frown had pulled down her white brows. “I thought a man would come and see her, but,” a rather disappointed sigh followed, “no one came that night.”
“So she was home from a little after five until ten p.m.?” He’d asked.
She’d jerked her thumb to a canvas covered in dark gray paint. “I was on the porch, trying a new technique. I call it night painting . . .”
“Uh, huh.”
“I was there till midnight.” Her fingers, stained with paint, had floated in the air between them. “Cara never left. I’d swear my life on it.” The lady had stuck with that story even after repeated questioning from both him and Colin.
The desk clerk had also been shown a photo lineup. The guy had stared at the line of six blondes, and shaken his head. “I-I don’t think I s-see her.” His words had been husky, the beer still strong on his breath.
“You don’t think or you know she’s not there?” Colin had pressed.
The bleary eyes had cleared for a moment. “She ain’t there.”
So, now, it appeared that Cara was in the clear.
Absolutely perfect.<
br />
A car horn sounded nearby—close enough to have Todd jerking in his seat. He was parked outside Paradise Found. He swore softly as he realized he’d been sitting in the car, staring at absolutely nothing, for the last ten minutes.
But, well, he had a few problems on his hands. He had to convince a woman who thought he was a major asshole that he just might be dateable.
Might.
He also had to catch a killer.
His life was damn busy these days.
With a harsh exhalation of air, Todd finally left his car. His weapon pressed into his back as he walked, and as he drew closer to the dark doors of the club, he couldn’t help but remember his last trip to the bar.
He’d had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Niol for the first time then. Strange bastard. Since Colin had been the one to verify Cara’s alibis at Paradise Found, it had been nearly two months since Todd’s last, very memorable, visit to the club.
He wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing Niol again.
How the hell had he done it? Todd wondered. How had the bastard managed to toss me across the room, without seeming to move so much as a finger? That day, when he and his partner had come to interrogate Niol, things had gotten out of control, fast.
One minute, Todd had grabbed the guy’s shoulder. The next, he’d found himself across the room, lying on top of a shattered table.
He’d known there was something odd about Niol from the first moment he met the guy. Every nerve in his body had gone on alert and the hair on his nape had risen.
That fierce awareness happened to him sometimes. Usually, it happened when the shit was about to hit the fan. When a perp was about to pull a gun or when all hell was seconds away from breaking loose.
He liked to think of it as his body’s warning system. A strong instinct. Whatever it was, it had never led him wrong before.
He hadn’t felt that response with Cara—at least, not at first. But when he’d walked into her house and gotten closer to her, all his systems had sent out a flashing alert.
He’d originally thought his gut was telling him the woman was a killer. Now, well, now he wondered if his body was just trying to tell him that the lady was pure danger to his soul.
“What the hell do you want, cop?” The snarl came from one of the bouncers, a guy who’d planted his body squarely in front of Todd’s path.
Smothering a sigh, Todd glanced up, way up. Shit. He knew the tattooed giant in front of him. The asshole had been guarding the door the last time he’d paid a visit to Paradise Found. “I want in,” he said simply.
The bouncer laughed at that, a deep rumbling laugh, and he nudged his sidekick, a short, dark, heavily muscled guy whose nostrils were currently flaring as he leaned in close to Todd.
“Not our kind,” the smaller one mumbled.
What the hell? Todd pulled a twenty out of his pocket. Shoved it at the giant jerk. “Open the damn door.”
A smirk. The cash disappeared in a instant. “Yer funeral, cop.”
The doors opened. The scream of a guitar pierced his ears and the rumble of voices danced into the night.
He paused on the threshold. “Your boss in?”
“Your lucky night, man,” from the shorter guy. “Niol’s gone hunting.”
And just what did that mean?
Then he forgot about the question as he caught sight of a woman with long, golden hair.
Cara.
He stepped into Paradise, and heard the crackle of laughter behind him.
The bar was packed. Literally teeming with bodies. Men, women. Most of ’em looked like they were anywhere from twenty to forty years old. Some were huddling in shadows. Some were all but having sex on the dance floor.
As he walked toward the bar, his nostrils twitched as he caught a familiar scent. It was ... blood. He’d worked enough crime scenes to know that coppery stench. Where was—
The man to the left of him lifted his head. Blood streamed down his chin. The woman in his arms moaned, turning her head just a fraction. Todd saw the marks on her then. Two deep holes in the side of her neck.
What the fuck?
He reached for his gun. “Get the hell away from her!”
There was a brief murmur at his yell, and one or two people glanced his way, but for the most part, he was ignored—even by the asshole who had attacked the woman.
The woman in question did look at him, though. Her face twisted into a snarl, and her lips lifted to reveal teeth that looked too damn sharp. “Fuck off, human!” she snapped, then grabbed the guy and stormed into the crowd.
“What?” He blinked, not sure what had just happened. No, an assault had occurred, he needed to help her and—
“It’s not what you think,” Cara’s soft, sensuous voice trailed along his nerve endings and cut right through the roar of the bar.
His fingers still gripped the gun. He turned slowly toward her, not sure if he was really ready to face her again, even though he’d come to be bar just to see ... her.
Shit. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her hair was soft and loose around her shoulders. Her face pale and lovely, like something out of a damn magazine ad. Her lips were a flash of crimson, and he wanted them on his.
She wore a short black dress. A tall pair of black boots. Her legs were bare, too tempting and so damn long.
It was all too easy to imagine grabbing her, lifting her up onto the bar that was less than five feet away, and getting her to wrap those sexy legs around his hips.
And if they weren’t surrounded by a room full of weirdos who apparently got off on biting one another, well, he might just do that.
“Put the gun away,” she ordered quietly. “You’re not in any danger now.”
His eyes narrowed. “That guy attacked the woman.”
“No, they were just having a little foreplay.” She pointed with her index finger.
He glanced across the room. Saw the couple snuggled into a corner, and watched as the woman lifted the man’s wrist to her lips and bit down, hard.
“Jesus.”
She laughed then. A soft, rippling laugh. “No, he’s one you definitely won’t find here.” Then her face slowly sobered and a faint line appeared between her brows. “What are you doing here?” The light seemed to dawn as her eyes narrowed. “Checking me out?”
Todd put his gun back into his holster and pulled his jacket over the weapon. “Already did that, baby.”
He heard the sharp inhalation of her breath. “And?”
“And your alibis held—for all three murders.” A fact that he couldn’t help but be grateful for right then. The lady was in the clear. The faint scratches on his arm seemed to burn.
“Of course, they held,” she said, brows snapping together. “I told you, I didn’t kill anyone.”
He noticed then that her eyes looked a little red. As if she’d been crying. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not.” Her lips pressed together, then she said, “I went to see Michael’s family today. They’re really torn up.”
Yeah, he’d seen them, too. They were grieving their hearts out, and they wanted answers, answers he couldn’t give them. Not yet.
They seemed like a good family. The mother, a stylish older woman, had stared blankly at him as tears trickled from her eyes. Michael’s father, his own eyes rimmed red, had wrapped his arms tight around the woman’s frail shoulders, his gentle hold belying the rage Todd so easily read on his face.
A good family. One that had loved their son.
Todd hadn’t belonged in a family like that since—aw, hell, he’d never been in a family like that. He was pretty much alone in the world now, and really, that was fine.
He didn’t want the kind of pain he’d seen in the Houses’s eyes.
Cara shook her head. “But if you already know I’m clear,” her husky voice wrapped around him and banished the image of the family’s grief, “then what are you doing here?”
Looking for her. He shrugged. “Can’t
a guy go to a bar to unwind after work?” Seemed a simple enough explanation to him.
“Not to this bar,” she said instantly. “Not if the guy is you.”
What did she mean by that?
“I don’t really think this is . . . ah . . . quite your usual scene,” she continued. “Maybe you should leave.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?” Was the lady trying to kick him out?
The band stopped playing then as the music faded into silence.
“Hell, I’m on.” Worry flickered across her face. “Are you going to leave?”
Not a chance. Especially if Cara was about to perform. “I want to watch you.” The words came out as more of a demand than he’d intended.
“I-I’m not very good. Average, really. You won’t be missing anything if you leave—”
“I’m staying.” Yeah, the club wasn’t his usual style, and he could feel most of the patrons glaring daggers at him, but Cara was there, he wanted her, and he wasn’t fucking leaving.
“Fine.” She shoved her index finger into his chest. “Just don’t start anything, okay? Stay at the bar—and . . . stay out of trouble, you understand me?”
Then she was gone, pushing through the crowd as she headed for the small stage. He watched her for a moment, admiring the soft sway of her hips as she moved. The lady really had an incredible ass. One that he would love to get his hands on.
She climbed up onto the stage. A faint light flickered over her head, making her blond hair shine.
Todd eased back, grabbed a bar stool, and prepared to watch. There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, “What—”
“Whiskey.” The bartender—a young guy, probably in his early twenties—pushed his favorite drink across the gleaming bar top.
Todd’s fingers curled over the glass. “Thanks.”
“Compliments of the house.”
The warning bells that had rung before in his head were suddenly back—ringing so loud they were nearly deafening. “Niol’s here?” Was the bastard somewhere watching him?
A slow shake of the bartender’s dark head. “Got standing orders to have drinks available to you and the other cop.”
“Gyth?”
“Yeah.” A brief smile curled the guy’s lips. It wasn’t a friendly smile. More like a dog showing his fangs to an intruder who’d wandered into his yard. “Though if I had my way, neither of you bastards would be at my bar.”