Tormented by Darkness

by Claire Ashgrove

  He clung to the memories of their night of passion like a life raft. Forbidden though she was, he couldn’t stop remembering how perfectly her body fit with his; how her touch soothed parts of him he hadn’t realized hurt. How she filled him with peace and hope.

  He pulled into his driveway and turned the engine off. Frustration rose, and anger bubbled. He was being foolish. If he had half an ounce of sense, he’d call her and cancel this trip to the mountains with her family. If he couldn’t reach her, he’d leave the house so she couldn’t goad him into going.

  But for some reason sense eluded him. He needed to be around her. Needed to feel the light touch of her palm against his. Needed the life that accompanied her smile.

  He thumped a balled fist against the steering wheel, not at all comfortable with the way this was spiraling beyond his control. He made it habit to keep himself emotionally disconnected with the women he took to his bed. What all that involved—well, suffice to say not too many stuck around to discover the full weight of his desires.

  Rhiannon damn sure wouldn’t be one of them. Though she’d been perfectly willing to surrender control after her enticingly bold advance, he sincerely doubted she’d tolerate his driving need to never let something he cared about go. Just letting go of that journal pained him. He ached to have it back. And it was something material, just words on paper. That need for control, for possession, crept over him in other ways too. Ways he’d only begun to indulge in last night.

  It went deeper than that though. Each day he woke and dragged his ass into work, chasing killers became more difficult. Half of him would rather stuff a bullet between the sorry bastards’ eyes than ever slap on another set of cuffs. Women just didn’t understand that. He was a cop, for god’s sake, one of the good guys. He was supposed to uphold justice, not entertain thoughts of vengeance. The fairer, gentler sex expected him to be above the base urge of murder.

  Not that he would ever give in to the desire. He wouldn’t. If for no other reason, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life behind bars. Beyond that very dissuading fact, however, in his heart, he knew it was wrong. Still, the torment haunted him. Especially when killers walked.

  Mick kicked open his car door and let himself inside his house. 3:45—she’d be here soon. She’d get a glimpse of his control-freak nature when he refused to let her drive. Depending on how well that went over, maybe they could talk. Maybe he could put a toe in the dark waters that he was and see how well she responded. If she had ever wanted to kill her father for murdering her mother, she just might understand half of the things that kept him awake at night.

  He hurried to his room to exchange his suit for jeans and a casual long-sleeved navy shirt. He pulled the card he’d picked up on his way home out of his lapel pocket and tossed it on the bed, refusing to consider what had driven him to acknowledge her birthday. Let alone why he’d chosen a card of sentiment instead of his usual preference for sarcastic humor.

  Needing to wash off the burden of Steve’s death, Mick grabbed his fresh clothes and headed for the shower. He couldn’t deny a night in the mountains would do wonders for his soul. Maybe out there, under the stars, he might tap into decency. Especially with an angel at his side.

  He grunted as he ducked under the streaming water. Yeah right. Angels and devils didn’t mix. But for a while, he’d let himself believe they could. When they came home tomorrow, he’d deal with reality and the undeniable fact he couldn’t indulge in Rhiannon any longer. In the meantime, he had to keep her from digging any further into his heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rhiannon pulled into Mick’s driveway to find him waiting on the front porch, duffle at his feet, one shoulder braced against a white-painted post. He pushed off the support as she turned off the engine and straightened to his full six-foot-two height. Broad shoulders filled up the narrow entry space.

  For a moment, a fleeting second of time that didn’t last nearly long enough, peace filled Rhiannon’s veins. She eased from the car, her heart tapping an anxious cadence against her ribs, and greeted him with a genuine smile. But as the breeze ruffled through her hair, claws of evil raked through her soul. Begging for freedom. Demanding to be cut loose from the chains of light that dominated for so many centuries.

  There were two ways to satisfy that dark calling. Death and lust. It needed to possess, and though the dominant need to feed on life would eventually overrule all else, for now, her father’s blood would be tempered by the physical indulgence. Rhiannon fed it willingly. As Mick approached, she rushed to greet him and slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her body suggestively into his. His hard contours, the strength in his arms as they wound around her waist, shocked her to the core. But his mouth was pure bliss. It captured hers, instantly greedy, seeking to satisfy the hunger they had sparked the night before.

  All sense of time, place, and circumstance fled her mind beneath the intoxicating kiss. Where they meshed together, her skin tingled. Against her breast his heart drummed a hard, fierce, beat. Heaven. Right here she could exist forever. Ignorant to Drandar’s dark poison and sailing on a cloud of sensation.

  Mick pulled away suddenly. Though his breath came in hard puffs, and the hand he raked through his hair shook, his gaze avoided hers. “Easy, Rhiannon,” he exhaled. He nodded at her SUV. “Hop in, I’m driving.”

  She blinked. Well so much for a warm greeting. Then again, he’d set the rules earlier. There was no future here. He didn’t share the same overwhelming intensity of feeling.

  He wasn’t in love with her.

  He didn’t wait for her to object either. Making himself right at home with her SUV, he tossed his duffel in the back and climbed behind the wheel. She should be annoyed. If he didn’t want some sort of connection between them, he shouldn’t be acting like he had a right to drive her vehicle.

  Still, some buried sense of femininity thrilled at the way he comfortably filled up the driver’s seat. She let herself into the passenger’s side and folded her hands on her lap.

  “Where to?” he asked as he backed out of the driveway.

  “Head north toward Pownel. We own some acreage just north of Bradbury State Park.” She stared out the windshield, intent on ignoring the way his obvious distance stung.

  She’d heard him before. But this morning she’d been too consumed by the newness of evil flowing in her blood to pay much attention. Too preoccupied with fleeing his house before she lost control of herself and tore open his throat. Now, his rejection hung over her like a thick black cloud. He was using her. For pleasure. For escape—whatever the reason didn’t matter. Mick was using her.

  And that realization hurt more than she cared to admit.

  More than she dared let on if she intended to keep his company through the very necessary night ahead.

  A measure of satisfaction inched down her spine as she stole a glance at his profile. Two could play his game. After all, she was using him too. To keep the balance. To keep death from overriding life and taking what it wasn’t meant to possess. Sure, she would sacrifice, but that was a cost she was willing to accept.

  She just hadn’t counted on her heart being affected. Not like this. Not when all she wanted was to link her hand through his, feel the strength of his fingers, and pretend this little weekend rendezvous was real. That Mick wouldn’t very likely hate her come the light of dawn.

  Still, she couldn’t just toss him to her brothers and force him to accept the ritualistic demands. Doing so compromised the other half of her nature. That act would border on the death rites her father carried out when he sacrificed her infant siblings and bathed in their blood.

  To gain Mick’s cooperation, however, required careful strategy. Twisting in her seat, she braved conversation. “You said Steve was Catholic, but you aren’t anymore?”

  “Nope. I went Methodist in my teens. Because Steve wasn’t.” Attention focused on the road, his answer was nothing but rote recitation.

  Not exactly conducive to approachi
ng him about alternate beliefs. She twisted the tri-color, gold ring of oak leaves on her right thumb. “Have you ever considered what’s out there? I mean, beyond us. The mountains always make me wonder about the majesty of the world. When I was a kid I used to think the old cabin up there was haunted.” She forced out a laugh, making up the story as she went along.

  “We all have demons, Rhiannon.” He repositioned his hands on the wheel. “But if you’re asking me if I believe in ghosts, and an afterlife, or poltergeists…” Mick shrugged. “The devil made me do it is a great fall back for murderers. Ironically, it’s the sane ones who claim that shit.”

  His gaze drifted off the road and latched onto hers. For a second, the hard set to his jaw hinted he had another scathing remark prepared. But his dark eyes flickered, and simple curiosity smoothed the tightness at the corners of his mouth. “What about you?”

  She hadn’t prepared for the conversation to be turned on her. What exactly could she say? She knew firsthand the powers of the other world? If she told him she was over two thousand years old and the product of an incubus’ lust for power, he’d pull over before they ever reached her family’s land.

  Troubled by the opposing desire to explain what she was, and the need to keep him in the car, she turned her stare out the passenger window. “There’s something out there more powerful than us, and yet we’re part of it. The Celts used to say, Is leor nod don eolach—A hint is sufficient for the wise. We are the hint.” After a thoughtful pause, she forced a light chuckle. “But what do I know? It’ll be nice to sit beneath the stars and the weather’s supposed to be clear.”

  As Rhiannon stole another cautious glance at Mick, she berated herself for her cowardice. Instead of telling him outright, she’d waxed philosophical. And judging from the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek, he wasn’t any too impressed with hearing her theories on the world.

  ****

  Mick hadn’t made Lieutenant by not hearing what people said between the lines. She was telling him something, giving him a hint. What that something was remained elusive. Yet as her words soaked into his topsy-turvy system, it became imperative to understand her on a deeper level and learn all he could about the obvious link between her vague reference and the woman she was. He relaxed his grip on the wheel and slid his gaze to the intricate tattoos on her face. “You’re proud of your heritage, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes widened infinitesimally, but enough to tell him he’d caught her off guard. She cocked her head to the side as she asked, “It’s that obvious?”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t know too many women who’d tattoo tribal art on their face.” Reaching across the center console, he dropped his hand onto hers and added more quietly, “Or too many who could wear them so well.”

  “Oh, those.” She pushed a thick lock of hair out of her face. “I’ve had them so long I forget about them. And actually…” A frown marred her high forehead as she paused. Delicate teeth worried her lower lip.

  “Actually?”

  “I didn’t do them. My mother did when I was born.”

  It was his turn to blink. He didn’t know a tattoo shop around that would put ink on a baby. Much less a school system who wouldn’t turn said mother in.

  Then again, Rhiannon had said her mother died when she was five. Maybe there wasn’t anyone to turn in by that time.

  “Your mother,” he repeated flatly, dumbfounded by the concept.

  Rhiannon shifted uncomfortably in her seat, not unlike a suspect in the hot seat. “Yeah. It’s a family mark. Passed down through generations. All my siblings have one somewhere. Dáire and I wear ours on our face.”

  Odd. Damned odd. But those unique whorls and lines had drawn him to her in the first place. Not that he could have missed her fire-red hair or the twinkling of her cerulean blue eyes. The artwork though…it explained how herbal remedies blended with floral arrangements and added to Rhiannon’s mystique.

  “My father—not Steve, my real one—was Irish.”

  “Uí Fhearghail.”

  “Huh?” His gaze snapped to her.

  Rhiannon flashed him a bright smile. “Descendant of Fearghal, those who fought with Brian Bóroimhe at Clontof and went on to become princes of Annaly. Farrells have been noble for centuries. Your heritage is rich in history.”

  “I, ah…” He cleared his throat. Damn. She knew more about him than he did. “I never really gave a damn. He was just the sperm donor.”

  Turning her palm up, Rhiannon laced her fingers with his. An impish grin danced over her lips. “How’s it feel to descend from a king? Shall I fall to my knees and bow at your feet?”

  Mick’s pulse kicked up a notch. He could think of a hell of a lot of other things he’d prefer if she was on her knees. But somehow, he doubted she’d appreciate hearing them. Reining in the misdirected path of his brain, he let out a light cough. “Ah—”

  “We nobles have to stick together,” she teased.

  Her lighthearted mood was catching, and Mick found himself chuckling at her bright voice. “You too, huh?”

  “My mother’s ancestors once ruled the Selgovae Celt tribe.” She turned to him, pride radiating in her features. “If this were then, I would be considered of great power. My birthday falls on Mabon, the autumn equinox. My ancestors would be celebrating the rare balance of light and dark, and the Celts considered this a day of high magic.”

  Oh shit—her birthday. In his hurry to get out of the house, he’d left the card on his bed. He grimaced inwardly. Smooth, ace. Real smooth.

  “Happy birthday,” he murmured as he squeezed her hand. “Tell me more about these Celts. Do you believe what your ancestors practiced?”

  Rhiannon unmistakably tensed. “I celebrate the Sabots,” she answered with a little more caution in her voice than necessary.

  “So you’re…pagan.” He tried the thought on, turned it around in his head until he’d analyzed it from all angles, and found it fit the rest of Rhiannon’s eccentricities.

  “I am. Does that bother you?”

  No. For that matter, it fascinated the hell out of him. What had she said—the rare balance of light and dark? He liked the sound of that. Liked the idea that the two could coexist. Only what little he knew about pagan practices supplied a more realistic logic. The autumn equinox split the day in half, and the dark and light Rhiannon spoke of had nothing to do with natures but hours of sunlight.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s your faith, Rhiannon. What I think is irrelevant.”

  Mick felt her withdraw. One minute she was smiling at him, her fingers clasping his hand tenderly. The next, those elegant digits rested limply against his, and her attention pulled out the side window.

  He told himself it was better this way. Better to wound her now by subtly reminding her they had no future, than to let her get more caught up in this, whatever it was. The sharp pang behind his ribs, however, had him wishing he could take back his indifferent words.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rhiannon had never been so glad to see the gravel road twisting through the overgrown trees that led to her family’s property. As Mick turned onto the drive, and twilight descended over the SUV, she gripped the armrest tighter. She had to get out of this car. Between the hurt swirling around in her heart, and the growing urge to avenge the injuries his words inflicted, sitting still had become almost impossible. With her hand in his, all she had to do was give the demon control. One rake of a deadly claw along the underside of his wrist, and it would all end.

  He eased to a stop near the base of a thick oak, and she scrambled for the door. But as she turned toward the crumbling cabin expecting to see Dáire’s red pickup, Rhiannon’s world ground to a stop. The place where they usually parked was empty. The fire pit not even stocked.

  Goddess above, where were her brothers?

  Panic pressed down on her as Mick pulled their things from the back of the SUV. They had to be here. Should have been by now. With the sun setting, and the energ
y of the moon rising, she wouldn’t survive much more of Mick’s company. Nor would he survive hers.

  Mick tossed her a puzzled look. “I thought you said your brothers were coming?”

  “Ah. They are. They should have been here by now.” Pulling herself together, she smoothed her palms down her thighs and took a deep breath. “Can I use your phone? Maybe they stopped somewhere for dinner.”

  He grinned as he plucked his cell phone off his hip and glanced at it. “Signal’s weak.” He tossed it to her. “I’m thinking we should pitch this tent and do exactly that. I’m starved.”

  Rhiannon flipped open the phone, quickly punched in Dáire’s number. The line ran six times, then routed to his voicemail. She turned her back to Mick, sheltering her words. “Where are you? I need you here.”

  Hanging up, she tried Cian’s cell, and then Miranda’s—all with the same result. Likely they were in the mountains and out of signal. Mick’s phone only showed one bar. Still, the uneasy feeling she’d been abandoned refused to let loose. She turned her face to the sky and closed her eyes, using the stirring breeze to calm her churning spirit. Dáire wouldn’t leave her alone. Not when he knew how critical tonight had become. He’ll be here.

  “Rhiannon.”

  Mick’s low voice pulled her from her frantic thoughts. She slowly turned around to face him, struggling to hold on to a false smile. Arms folded across his chest, bags untouched at his feet, he leaned against a wide tree trunk. His predatory gaze seared through her sweatshirt, filling her head with fantastic images of the night they’d spent together and tightening her breasts until her nipples stood upright. Sweet goddess above.

  “Come here,” he beckoned quietly.

  She crossed the browning grass, dried leaves crunching beneath her hesitant footfalls. Like he controlled her with a draw string, his dominating presence drew her in. She didn’t know what had happened to the man who kept himself at an unreachable distance. Didn’t care. This one was watching her like he had every intention of bringing them as close as two people could be. And the dark intensity in his gaze held a magnetic appeal.