Malachi smiled. It was a cold, mean smile that displayed deadly fangs. “I am the Council.”
“You cannot speak for the entire Council, Mal.”
Mike glanced behind him at Lori, watching as the young witch stepped inside the room.
“Little witch, I can speak for whomever I choose,” Malachi purred, not even glancing at her.
“The woman is unconscious—helpless.”
“She is still to blame for what has happened.” Malachi looked unconcerned as he drew closer to the bed. Long, deadly fangs had slid down, and they glinted as he smiled, his eyes focused on Morgan’s still face with predatory intent. “Eli wants her to be the Council’s problem—I am the Council.”
“You cannot speak for me, Malachi,” a new voice said. “I serve the Council as well. Don’t I have a say?”
Something shifted in the air—a warmth that chased away the chill of Mal’s rage. Kelsey appeared in the doorway behind Lori. Reaching up, she laid a hand on Lori’s shoulder and lowered her head, speaking quietly to the younger witch. Lori’s jaw tightened, but she nodded and then turned away, leaving in silence.
Kelsey glanced at Mike, and he just lowered his eyes, looking back at Leandra’s face. Although he knew sooner or later he would feel differently, at the moment, he didn’t care what happened to the bitch. He just wanted Leandra back.
Kelsey had to smile. She knew when she’d been dismissed. Mike knew damn good and well she wanted him out of the room while she spoke with Malachi, but he didn’t care.
She didn’t have time to mess with him, either.
Malachi was ready to kill the woman lying on the bed. Kelsey couldn’t deny that part of her wanted to see the witch dead. Kelsey wanted her to suffer. There was an aching, gaping hole in her chest caused by the loss of her dearest friend.
Agnes had been like a mother to her. Kelsey couldn’t imagine living without her.
And she knew Malachi had been even closer to the old witch than Kelsey was. His pain was so great, it almost choked her, even through her shields.
But she couldn’t let him kill a helpless woman.
It would destroy him.
“She’s helpless right now. You’ve never killed the helpless before, Malachi. You can’t mean to start now.”
He glanced at her, his eyes still glowing with rage. His voice was almost bored as he replied, “I do not mean to start anything. All I want to do is kill her. And then I’m done.”
Kelsey really didn’t like the finality of his words. Done . . .
And she knew what he was thinking. It would be hard for him to kill himself, but he could certainly manage it. He was stubborn enough. But the Council had already lost Agnes. Losing Malachi would leave them all weak.
And . . . it hurt. The thought of a world without that arrogant, stubborn bastard made her belly feel all hot, queasy, and tight. “Is this what Nessa would have wanted?” Kelsey asked gently.
He crossed the room so fast her eyes couldn’t even register the movement. He was by the bed, and then he was just there, his hands wrapped tightly around her upper arms as he lifted her up and slammed her into the wall. Ivory fangs flashed as he snarled, “Nessa cannot want anything. She is dead. Dead because of her. So I’ll see her bleed as well.”
Kelsey reached up, cupping Malachi’s cheek in her hand. “Nessa chose her path, Malachi. This was what she wanted. You knew her even better than I. You know how lonely she was.”
The frightening rage she saw in his face melted away, and she saw the knowledge in his eyes. The knowledge, the grief, and the guilt. His eyes closed, and slowly his hands loosened on her arms, and he lowered her back to the floor. But instead of releasing her, he sank to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her hips as he pressed his face against her belly.
When he spoke, his voice was thick with the lyrical accent of Scotland. “Lonely . . . aye, I know loneliness. Nessa—she’s been there for so long. With her, the loneliness eased a bit. How could she leave, Kelsey?”
For the first time in her life, Kelsey was faced with a pain she had no idea how to ease. She didn’t have any words, didn’t have any magick, nothing that she could do or say that could ease him. Laying one hand on his shoulder, she smoothed her other hand down the silken length of his hair.
“I wish I had an answer for you, Mal. But it happened because it was meant to.”
“Meant . . .” he muttered the word against her belly, shaking his head. His hair slid over her hands, so soft and silky. Unconsciously, Kelsey closed a hand around his hair, rubbing the slick stuff back and forth between her fingers. “What is meant, Kelsey? I used to know. I was meant to be a Hunter, meant to be a vampire. Just as Agnes was meant to be a witch so damned powerful that her magick kept her alive long past when her body was ready for death. But were we meant to spend centuries alone? Meant to suffer? Meant to live and die lonely? It makes no sense.”
With a sigh, Kelsey murmured, “I don’t know, Malachi. I just don’t know.”
He leaned back, and Kelsey felt the punch of his stare sizzle through her. “There are no answers for us, are there, Kelsey?” he whispered. His hands spread open, and she could feel them cupping her hips.
Heat began to arc through her as he leaned forward and nuzzled her abdomen. “No answers, no reasons. What is there left to us?”
Kelsey swore silently, her heart stuttering in her chest. This isn’t good . . . a soft, sane voice murmured in the back of her mind. No, it wasn’t good. Flicking her eyes up, she saw Mike was still sitting back on Leandra’s bed, seemingly unaware of them.
But she knew he could feel it; there was no way he couldn’t feel the sexual tension building in the air. Kelsey could feel her own heartbeat kicking up, and she wanted to swear. Her instincts were screaming at her, and it took every last bit of willpower she had to bolster her shields. Even then, she could feel the heat of lust pulsing through the air.
Malachi’s control was shot—she knew that—worn thin by grief and rage, and it was little surprise that he couldn’t control what he was doing. But that wouldn’t make it any easier for her to handle this.
A vampire’s call was such a heady thing: a sensual, sexual power that increased with age and strength. Malachi’s had become damn near euphoric, and it was addictive. If he didn’t keep it reined in, he’d have women tearing each other up just to be the one closest to him.
Kelsey could normally handle it. All it took was the right kind of shields.
But she hadn’t ever had to test them out with him so close. And with him not even trying to control it, most likely completely unable to . . . no, not good.
Her fingers clutched involuntarily at his shoulders, and she found herself staring at her hands, imagining how they’d look on his bare flesh. His skin was pale, even paler than her own, and smooth. His long body was roped with muscle, and Kelsey’s very active imagination began to paint a picture of what he’d look like under those clothes.
She felt the cool kiss of air on her belly and then the soft brush of his mouth over her skin. His body had warmed as he pressed against her, and as his lips whispered over her flesh, he left a trail of heat. The touch of his mouth on bare skin had every nerve ending in her body singing, and Kelsey felt the muscles in her belly clench. Her knees went weak, and for one second, she started to let him support her weight.
“No.” Her voice was hoarse and rough—she barely recognized it. Clearing her throat, she shook her head and pressed against his shoulders, leaning away from him. The action arched her hips against him, and Kelsey barely suppressed the whimper that rose in her throat as he crushed her hips tight against his torso. “Malachi—just stop, okay?”
Midnight-blue eyes lifted, and Kelsey felt her resolve melting away just at the look of those hot, glowing eyes. She could feel herself melting, felt the hot, exotic whisper of desire pulsing through her system.
And then Malachi was gone. He moved away from her with such silence, such speed, she never even saw him move
. Her legs wobbled under her weight for a moment, and she slammed a hand against the wall to brace herself as she sucked in ragged breaths of air.
She felt the loss of his body against hers with something akin to pain. This isn’t good . . .
Those words circled through her mind for the hundredth time.
Malachi hadn’t ever been good on her senses. She’d managed to keep it under control for years, but this time . . . blowing out a breath, she stared at the back of Mike’s head for a long moment and wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t been there.
Malachi stood several feet away, and she felt the weight of his stare as clearly as if he had been touching her. She looked into his eyes and swallowed. His gaze dropped to her throat, and Kelsey felt her pulse leap. Hunger seemed to color the air—her own, his. The need to feel his body against hers, to feel the sharp, sweet pain as his fangs pierced her flesh.
“Mal . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she sighed, shoving a hand through her hair. She didn’t know what she wanted to say. What she could say.
He closed the distance between them, and Kelsey stood frozen as he reached up and touched a hand to her hair. “Damn you, Kelsey,” he whispered quietly. Then he moved past her, leaving the room in silence.
IT WAS FINALLY SILENT ONCE MORE.
Mike heard the door close behind Kelsey, and he let his head drop forward, resting his brow against Leandra’s thigh.
He was so damn tired. He hadn’t slept since this had happened, and exhaustion weighed so heavy on him, he could barely keep his eyes open.
But Mike didn’t want to sleep. Not until he saw her open her eyes, not until he saw her move.
“Where are you? Where did you go?” he muttered.
There was no answer. He reached up, trailing his hand down her cheek before covering her hand with his. Shifting, Mike pressed his lips to her cheek where he had just touched. “Come back to me, Lee. Just come back, okay?”
SHE COULD HEAR HIM WHISPERING TO HER. HE DID that a lot. Often, Leandra heard his deep, rough voice penetrating the fog that seemed to surround her.
But she couldn’t ever find him. Although Mike’s voice seemed like he was right there, no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find him.
Her cheek felt the ghostly brush of warm, calloused fingers, then the soft caress of his lips as he kissed her. Her palm tingled, and Leandra could feel his hand pressing against hers. But when she tried to lift her other hand to touch him, the fog thickened and he was gone.
“I have to find him—have to get out of here,” she told herself, and her voice echoed all around.
The longer she stayed here, the harder it would be to leave. She was forgetting things.
Forgetting herself, forgetting her life. Losing herself.
Her throat burned as she screamed out Mike’s name, but there was no answer.
She was alone, and the fog closed around her, thicker and denser than ever before.
Time passed—hours, days, maybe weeks, Leandra didn’t know. But finally, the fog shifted around her, slowly clearing, and she found herself standing in the middle of some sort of archaic village. The buildings were roughly hewn hunks of log, covered with thatched roofs. The air was thick with smoke, and the voices she heard sounded foreign. The words sounded familiar, but she couldn’t understand a damn thing.
People walked by, and they wore clothes as rough and primitive-looking as the buildings. Leandra was standing in the middle of what looked like a well-traveled dirt road, but not one of the people brushing past her seemed to notice her.
She wasn’t the only one there, either.
The other two women that haunted her dreams were there. The blonde woman—there was something evil and tainted about her. She was familiar—Leandra knew her. Finally, she remembered the woman’s name: Morgan.
On a deep, primal level, Leandra knew this woman was the enemy. She couldn’t remember anything about Morgan besides her name, but she knew the woman was her enemy. There were other things—things that Leandra had forgotten, or lost to the fog, important things about this woman. But Leandra didn’t need details to recognize a foe.
The other woman, Leandra didn’t know her. She bore a strong resemblance to Morgan, at least physically. She had a sweet, heart-shaped face and hair that seemed to have every shade of gold and brown imaginable. She almost looked soft. Too soft for the power Leandra sensed inside her. But her eyes held a strength, a resolve that was anything but soft.
Those warm blue eyes looked familiar. Leandra had a feeling she should know her. Or that she had. But who she was . . . Leandra had no clue.
The voices and noise of chaotic life faded into the background, leaving the three women standing in a bubble of silence. It was Morgan who pierced the silence with a low, husky laugh. “You could have saved him.”
As she spoke, the world around them shifted. Day turned to night, and instead of standing in the middle of a busy road, they were in a dark, poorly lit room. There were a few rickety tables, and the air was heavy with the pungent scent of ale. “All you had to do was kill him—or give him what he wanted.”
The woman hissed out a breath between her teeth, and Leandra felt tension mounting in the air as she tracked that wide-eyed, furious blue-eyed gaze. “You nasty, evil bitch,” the third witch swore, not even looking at Morgan as she spoke.
“Awww. Now come on, Hunter. You wanted to save him, would have done anything—you just weren’t willing to do it in time,” Morgan purred.
Hunter . . . yes. It was in her eyes, in the way she held herself, in the steadfast resolve that seemed to color the air around her. And Leandra could see very easily why she was so pissed off.
It was her—the Hunter—kneeling in front of a man who was so filthy, it made Leandra’s skin crawl just to look at him. He held the woman’s head clutched between grimy hands as he pumped his cock back and forth between her lips. “That was all he wanted, Hunter. You could have swallowed it a time or two, or even used magick to make him leave you alone. But you and your damned honor . . .”
The scent of blood flooded the air, and the image of the Hunter shifted. She was still on her knees, but the man with her was different. Younger, handsome, clean—and dying. He stared up at the Hunter with dark, tortured eyes.
“Listen to him scream for help, love. You came and answered their cries. And this is what they’ve done,” he rasped, his voice choked with pain.
It was like they were watching a movie, but only Morgan seemed entertained. The Hunter looked like she didn’t know if she wanted to scream or sob. Leandra felt like ripping into Morgan with her bare hands, but she couldn’t move.
All she could do was watch as the man lay dying in front of his woman.
“Hush.” The Hunter stroked his face before she turned her eyes to glare into the distance.
Staring at something. No, not something, Leandra realized. Someone.
It was the man from earlier, the one who had been forcing his dirty dick into the Hunter’s mouth. He was cowering at the look he saw in the Hunter’s eyes.
“Bloody bastard, there is no help for you. Murderer, you are. Rot in hell.”
The man screamed, and fire licked at his body, the stench of his burning flesh heavy in the air. Leandra heard the screams of others, although she could only see the grieving woman and two men dying.
“Elias . . . God, please. Do not leave me!”
Leandra lifted her eyes and stared at the Hunter, who still stood watching the heartbreaking tableau. “Don’t let her do this to you,” Leandra said quietly.
Blue eyes closed, and the images vanished. Once more, the three women were surrounded by fog. “She does nothing. These are memories, memories long past.”
Morgan smirked. “Long past, but not very forgotten, are they? They haunt you day and night. How else do you think I found them?”
She sauntered toward the unnamed Hunter, a seductive smile on her red-slicked lips. “Why don’t you just let go? There’s nothing
here for you.”
“I’ll go when it is my time to go.” Blue eyes narrowed, and the Hunter smiled, a mean, humorless curve of her lips. “And I plan on taking you with me.”
Morgan’s lids flickered. Then she smiled, the same brassy, brazen smile. “You just don’t get the hint, do you, old woman?”
Blood pounded in Leandra’s head, a roaring in her ears that made it almost impossible to think. Old woman.
She blinked, looking back at the Hunter, but even as her mind began to try to piece the puzzle together, the fog rushed back up, obscuring everything. Then it deepened, and Leandra felt sleep pulling back at her. She tried to fight it, tried to make her mind work, but the exhaustion was stronger.
“WHAT ARE YOU SO AFRAID OF?”
Leandra looked up as the young female Hunter stepped from the fog. It was habit that had her sneering a little as she responded, “I am not afraid.”
The Hunter cocked a brow as she turned and studied the emptiness that surrounded them. “So you stay here because it is so lovely?”
“I cannot figure out how to get out, Hunter. I am not here because I choose to be.”
There was an odd smile on the Hunter’s mouth, a knowing one. “And where would you choose to be?”
Leandra turned away. She didn’t know what to say. Back with Mike—that was where she wanted to be. With her lover, her love. With the man who made her feel complete inside. But she had seen what this woman had lost, knew something of the loneliness that ate at her.
Mike was all but lost to her now, and Leandra could see an eternity of loneliness spread out before her.
Maybe this was a fitting punishment for her sins. She’d almost begun to think that happiness, a life with Mike, the only man she’d ever really loved, was possible.
That dead hope was all that would keep her company as she spent an eternity trapped here.
“Nobody spends eternity here,” the Hunter said, sighing. “But I imagine you could wait a very, very long while.” She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans, a pair of tight-fitting black jeans, exactly like those Morgan had been wearing.
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