by Cynthia Eden
Her hands lifted to stroke the strong width of his arms, his shoulders. They felt like steel beneath her touch. His chest brushed against her breasts, bringing the peaks of her nipples to taut, aching life.
She gasped, stunned by the feelings flooding through her. Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for this, for him.
His teeth scraped against her throat. Her neck arched, opening her more to him, to his touch.
With a growl, he pushed her away. His chest rose and fell in a quick, rapid rhythm. He stared at her, hunger clear on his face.
Need blazed through her body. Savannah clenched her hands into fists, fighting the urge to go to him, to wrap her hands around him.
“You want my kiss.” A beast stared at her from behind the face of a man. “And you want my strength to aid in your quest.”
“Yes,” she whispered, wondering at the sudden change in him.
“How far will you go,” he queried softly, “in order to obtain your justice?”
“I told you, I’ll do anything.” And she would. She would go to any lengths to seek justice for her brother.
He smiled, and for just an instant, a flicker of fear licked through her. “I’ll give you what you want, sweet Savannah. I’ll see to it that you get the justice that you crave and the kiss that you need so badly.” He paused. “And in return . . .” His gaze roved hungrily over her body.
She swallowed and lifted her chin. “In return?”
“I want you.”
Her heart seemed to freeze at the low, harsh words. “I don’t understand.”
“If I give you the kiss, then I want you. I want you to stay with me. To become my companion. My mate.”
Her eyes widened. Surely he couldn’t mean it. She laughed, the sound high and nervous. “You can’t be serious. You—”
“I’ve never been more serious.” His jaw was tightly clenched. “If you want your justice, you will have to pay a price.”
“You mean I would have to sell myself,” she snapped. She couldn’t believe the proposition that he was offering. Why? Why would he do it? “I thought you said you hated blackmail.”
He lifted one dark brow. His lips curved mockingly. “Ah, but this isn’t blackmail. It’s a bargain.”
So this was what it felt like to sell your soul to the devil. Savannah stared into William’s swirling eyes and knew that she had no choice. “For how long?”
He froze. “Excuse me?” The words seemed strangled from him.
“How long will I have to stay with you?” She asked, her cheeks flushing.
He took two steps toward her. His hand lifted and gently caressed her cheek. “Why, forever, of course.”
Forever. Her skin seemed to burn at his touch. “And what would I have to do as your . . . companion?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word mate.
He traced the delicate outline of her lips with one tapered finger. “You’d be my lover. You’d share my home, my bed.”
“I’d be your whore,” she said softly, feeling a wave of shame and anger wash through her.
“No!”
Her gaze flew to his face. She wondered at the rage she saw there.
He took a deep breath, apparently struggling for control. “You’d be my mate.”
She swallowed, startled by his intensity. “Why me? You could have anyone that you wanted.” And she knew it was true. William was compelling, mysterious. Surely he could have any woman without having to promise immortality.
“I want you,” he said simply. “I don’t want anyone else.”
She frowned, surprised by his answer.
William swore and glanced toward the open balcony door. “Dawn comes. I must leave.” He stepped back, staring down at her confused expression. “Take the day to think about my offer. When darkness falls, I will come for you.”
She nodded and watched silently as he strode across the room. He stopped at the door and turned back to face her. “If you aren’t here when I rise, I’ll know what your choice was and I’ll understand. But if you are here . . .” His gaze narrowed, and he continued roughly, “If you are still here, then you’ll be mine. Forever.”
The door slammed behind him, and the sound echoed in Savannah’s heart.
HE WAS A FOOL.
Why had he made that ridiculous offer to her?
William lay on his bed, secure in the tunnels under his home, and wondered at the madness that had swept through him. What had driven him to make that devil’s bargain with Savannah?
He could still see the anger that had flared in her eyes, still read the rage that had swept across her expressive face.
He sighed and shifted on the bed, frustration sweeping though him. Was she still there? Was she in the house above him? Or had she already fled from him?
A low growl rumbled in his throat. He hated being trapped in the tunnels. But they were his only option. His gaze scanned the room quickly, and he wondered what Savannah would think of his resting place.
The main room was large, with granite flooring that he’d imported from Italy. Bookshelves lined the walls of the room, and two oversized chairs were arranged in the far corner. His bed was in the middle of the room. Like the one in Savannah’s room, it was a huge four-poster made of rich cherry wood.
She probably thought that he slept in a coffin. And, in truth, he had when he’d first become a vampire. The coffin had protected him from the harsh rays of the sun.
But he’d moved on since then. He’d learned much in the centuries of his vampire existence. He’d mastered his strength. He’d learned to hunt. He’d learned to survive.
And he had learned to be alone.
Then Savannah had walked into his world. He wondered what it would be like to share the bed with her. To lay her down on the satin sheets and take her.
He closed his eyes, trying to block the vision from his mind. But in the darkness, the image continued to torment him. He could see her so clearly. Her silken mane of hair, spread on his pillow. The pale column of her thighs, spread for him.
And he knew why he’d made his offer to her. Because he wanted her, craved her, with a desire that was raging out of control.
His body began to grow slack. His time of sleep was upon him. He couldn’t fight the dawn. None of his kind could.
Before the darkness claimed him, his last thought was of Savannah. Would she still be there when he awoke?
SHE NEEDED HER PILLS.
Savannah paced her room like a caged lion. With each step that she took, the throbbing in her head seemed to increase.
It was always worse in the mornings. She didn’t know why, but her head always ached more in the early hours of the day.
She gritted her teeth against the pain.
She wanted to scream, to rage against the agony that was tearing her mind apart.
But screaming wouldn’t do any good. She’d learned that long ago. Neither would begging, or pleading.
She turned on her heel and headed toward the door. She had to get out. She couldn’t stay here a moment longer.
She twisted the knob and pulled the wooden door open with a quick jerk. She glanced down the deserted hall, wondering where William was. She knew that he was sleeping. His kind had to sleep during the day.
She walked slowly down the long hall, gazing curiously around her. Paintings lined the walls. Some were of castles, crumbling castles from long ago. Others were of blood-soaked battlefields. Who had painted them? William?
She was at the top of the stairs now. Her hand locked tightly on the banister, and she began to walk down the steps. Halfway down, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her.
She held on to the banister with all of her strength, praying that the wave would pass soon, fearing that she’d fall, and tumble to he
r death.
Time seemed to stop as she held onto the wooden rail. Splinters bit into her palms. Black dots danced before her eyes.
She took several deep, gasping breaths. And she willed the sickness to pass. Slowly, the trembling left her body. The dizziness faded. And the darkness vanished.
She crept slowly down the remaining stairs. That had been too close. She had to get her pills.
A phone sat on a table at the base of the stairs. She picked up the receiver and dialed information.
“Yes, hello. What city? Um, Tyler, North Carolina. Yes, I need the number for a cab company. What? Thanks.”
Savannah disconnected the call and quickly punched the number for the cab. A gruff voice answered on the second ring.
“Mel’s Cabs.”
“Yes, I need for a cab to come and pick me up.” She rubbed her temple and glanced around the shadowed foyer. “As soon as possible.”
“Where are you, Ma’am?”
Savannah rattled off William’s address.
A soft whistle blew over the line. “Up on the mountain, huh? It’ll be at least an hour before I can get anyone up there.”
Savannah’s lips tightened. “Fine. Just tell your driver to hurry, okay?” The sooner she got back to her hotel room, the better it would be for her.
“Will do, ma’am.”
Savannah sighed and replaced the receiver. She glanced around, wondering how she could possibly occupy her time until the cab arrived. She didn’t want to go back to her room. She couldn’t risk another dizzy spell that might send her stumbling down the stairs.
A door to her right stood open, and a soft light shone from within. It was the same room that she’d entered the first night she’d met William. She crept slowly toward the room.
No fire burned in the fireplace. The light came from a small lamp in the corner. She walked toward the lamp. And she saw the diary. Henry’s diary. It rested on the table closest to the lamp.
She picked it up, her fingers running lightly over the engraved crest. She traced the shield, and the detailed design of a hawk that lined its surface. This diary had led her to William.
She sighed. What was she to do about William? Could she really agree to his bargain?
She thought of her brother and the screams that still echoed in her mind. Could she allow her brother’s killer to go unpunished?
Still holding the diary, she sat down in one of the high-backed chairs in the corner. Her fingers continued to trace the crest.
What should she do?
TWO HOURS LATER, she was back at the Traveler’s Inn.
The hotel room looked exactly as she’d left it. She locked the door behind her and hurried toward the nightstand drawer. She pulled open the drawer and grabbed her pills. She swallowed two quickly, not even taking the time to get a glass of water.
She stared down at the bottle, hating it, hating her reliance on the wretched pills. She couldn’t even go for a single day without them.
What would it be like to be strong? To be free of the pain? Free of the terrible need for those little white pills?
William could give her that freedom.
Her fingers clenched around the pill bottle.
A loud knock sounded at her door. She jerked around. The knock sounded again. Her door shook slightly.
She carefully replaced the pills and walked slowly toward the door. She leaned forward, peering through the peephole.
A man stood on the other side of her door. His features were tense, almost angry. As she stared at him, he lifted his hand and pounded again.
“Ms. Daniels? I know you’re in there. Please, open the door. I have to speak with you.”
She frowned. How did this stranger know her name?
“Please, Ms. Daniels. I have some information for you regarding your brother’s killer.”
Her eyes widened and she stepped quickly back from the door. She hurried to the closet and pulled a small, locked box from its darkened interior. She punched in the lock’s combination, and, with a soft click, the box opened.
A gleaming black handgun rested inside.
She lifted the gun, and with hands that were rock steady, she loaded the bullets. She checked the safety, making certain the mechanism was in place. She stood, holding the gun at her side, and walked carefully toward the door.
She opened the door a tiny bit, barely two inches, keeping the golden top lock in place. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Jack Donovan.” A soft, southern drawl accented his words. He had dark hair, perhaps a shade lighter than William’s, and smooth, handsome features. Savannah surveyed him quickly. He was tall, probably six-two or six-three. His body was muscled, fit. She judged that he was in his early thirties, maybe a little younger.
He was dressed casually, in loose jeans and a black pullover. Both of his hands were lifted in the air, as if he wanted to prove to her that he was no threat.
Savannah didn’t open the door another inch. She didn’t trust this man, this Jack Donovan. There was something about him that put her on edge.
“How do you know who I am, Jack Donovan?” She asked softly, her gaze firmly locked on his.
His blue eyes held her stare. “I’m a private investigator.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been following you.”
“What?”
He glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Look, I really don’t want to discuss this outside, Okay? Let me in, and I’ll tell you as much as I can.”
Savannah hesitated. She didn’t know him, and she sure as hell didn’t trust him. “I don’t think so.”
A door slammed down the hall. Jack swore softly. “Lady, you’re in danger. You’re going to get yourself killed!”
She lifted one brow. “I’m dying. What’s the difference?” Her smile mocked him. If he’d been investigating her, then he had to know about her condition.
A muscle jerked along the column of his jaw. “The difference is the way that you go. Easy, lying in a hospital bed. Or screaming in agony as all the blood is drained from your body.”
Her smile vanished.
“Let me come in.” His gaze was intent. “We can help each other if you will just let me in.”
Her fingers tightened around the handle of the gun. It felt cold, heavy. Reassuring. “All right, you can come inside. But only for a moment.”
He nodded and again glanced over his shoulder.
Savannah hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. She would hate to have to kill Mr. Jack Donovan. She pulled open the lock and stepped back. He hurried inside.
Savannah silently watched him as he headed toward the center of the room. She shut the door, turning the lock to keep out any more visitors. Then she lifted the gun. She pulled back the safety. The soft click seemed to echo in the room.
Jack spun around, eyes wide. “Hold on!” He lifted his hands, palms out. “I’m not here to hurt you!”
Savannah aimed the gun straight at his heart. She’d learned to shoot long ago, back when she’d been a carefree girl. Long before illness had ravaged her body and her mind. Her father had taught her, and she remembered well the lessons she’d learned. Besides, as close as she was to him, there was no way she could possibly miss.
“What do you want?” Her voice was cool.
He gulped, his gaze locked on the gun. “Look, just put that thing down—”
A small smile twisted her lips. “I don’t think so, Mr. Donovan. Now, who hired you?”
A sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead. “I can’t tell you that.”
She cocked the hammer of the gun. “That’s not the answer I was hoping to hear.”
His eyes widened. “I can’t tell you, okay? Part of my contract with my client was that I would keep his identity completely secret.”
/>
“How do I know that you’re even a real detective?” Savannah mused. She was a bit surprised at herself. She’d never actually held anyone at gunpoint before. She thought she was doing a pretty good job of it.
His hands began to lower.
“Ah-ah! Keep your hands up!” She couldn’t risk him pulling a weapon on her.
“I’m just going to get my ID, okay? I’m just going to reach into my back pocket—”
Her body stiffened, going instantly to high alert.
Jack moved slowly. Inch by careful inch, he removed his wallet. He flipped it open and held it up for her to examine. “My detective’s license is in here.”
She squinted, trying in vain to read the small card. “Throw it to me.”
His mouth tightened, but he threw the wallet across the room. It landed at her feet.
She carefully bent and picked up the wallet, scanning the ID. “This could be fake.”
“It isn’t.”
“Why were you hired to follow me?”
“It seems that both you and my employer share a common enemy.” His gaze was hooded, watchful.
Her stomach clenched. She put the safety back on the gun, but she did not lower the weapon. Her palms were starting to sweat. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re after your brother’s killer.”
Savannah said nothing, neither confirming nor denying his words.
“My employer’s brother was killed, too,” Jack said softly, his gaze watching her, waiting for her response.
Savannah lowered her gun. “How was he killed?”
“Can’t you guess?” He waited a beat and then said, “All of the blood was drained from his body.”
Savannah swallowed. The fingers of her left hand lifted and rubbed lightly against the two small marks on her neck. Jake frowned at the gesture, and Savannah dropped her hand instantly, swinging her hair forward to cover the wounds. “And your . . . employer . . . how did he find out about me?”
“He read about your brother in the paper, about the way he died. And he knew the same killer had committed both crimes.”