David glanced between them. "I heard you saying that he was talking in your head again, right? So, yeah, that's my guess." He glanced past them. "I'll go harvest some more wood. We'll need more tonight. I'll be back in a couple hours." He moved past them to his truck, now moving with lithe grace, despite the fact that he'd barely been able to walk only an hour before.
Neither Jordyn nor Eric moved to stop him, and they were silent as he started his battered truck and drove it away.
As his engine faded into the distance, Jordyn felt her heart tighten. She glanced at Eric. "Last night, in his battle with the vampire, he let it slip where I was." It wasn't a question. She knew it in her heart. "He did it on purpose. Whatever vampire he fought, he didn't kill it. He let it go." Was that why that man Richard was dead? And why Skye had gotten hurt? Because David had exposed them to set his trap?
No. No, that wasn't right. David wasn't like that. But the denial rang empty within her. Maybe he was like that.
But Eric nodded. "He set you up to trap Cicatrice. I can't say I approve of his method." His voice was lethal.
Jordyn bit her lip, refusing to dwell. She wasn't here to rediscover a lost childhood friendship with the one person she'd trusted. She was in town because she owed Tristan, and now, she also wanted to protect her town. Stopping Cicatrice was the only way to do it. "Well, I guess we might as well take advantage, right? I mean, Cicatrice is who we want." But she couldn't suppress the ripple of fear. Her grandmother had warned her over and over again how dangerous Cicatrice was, not just to the world, but to her, specifically.
Eric tossed the stake on the counter. It rattled on the Formica, and then slid off and clattered to the floor. "There is never a reason to use you as bait," he said. "Ever." He held out his hand, and she saw angry burn marks crisscrossing his flesh, as if someone had laid a hot poker across his palm repeatedly.
She held out her own hand, which hadn't been affected at all by the stake.
"David doesn't see in shades of gray," he said softly. "He sees only in black and white."
She looked at him, understanding what he was saying. "He'd kill you, even though you're perfectly sane. And Tristan."
"With great pleasure." Eric closed his hand, and she felt him push energy across it. His hand glowed green, and this time, when he opened his palm, it was almost healed.
Almost, but there were still a few faint lines across it, as if even he couldn't quite take away the damage of the stake. He met her gaze. "Tonight, the enemy won't simply be Cicatrice. It will also be David. He knows there is something going on with me, and he will work to take advantage of it."
Jordyn brushed her hair back from her face. "The woman he loved was killed by a vampire," she said. "I understand where his hostility comes from."
Eric shook his head. "Hostility is dangerous. A good warrior never lets personal vendettas drive him."
Jordyn bit her lip. "I know." She knew Eric was right, but at the same time, she understood what it felt like to be coping with extreme emotions. "I think his heart is in the right place," she said softly. "Plus, he's a good fighter, apparently," she said. "We'll need his help to stop Cicatrice. As an ancient vampire, he's ridiculously powerful. David will know how to stop him."
"David is a bull in a china shop," Eric said. He walked over to the dining room table and picked up her grandmother's book. "I was in your grandmother's shed. I felt the strength of her power, the finesse with which she'd woven her protections. She had skills far beyond what David possesses. Find out what she knew, and find out quickly."
She took the book, her fingers brushing against his. "That spirit that was trapped in her shed? The one that you said was cruelly trapped? Was that her magic?"
He met her gaze. "It wasn't David's," he said, answering the question she hadn't asked. "He's not talented enough to do it. It was hers."
Jordyn's heart sank. "So, maybe she had a good reason."
He nodded at the book. "Figure out what it was. And fast."
***
Eric paused in the doorway of David's bedroom to check on Skye. She was still in deep healing mode, but her spirit was settled. He couldn't sense danger from her, and her energy seemed balanced, unlike David's.
Satisfied that Skye was neither a threat, nor in danger of dying, he turned away and strode down the stairs to where Jordyn was hunched over the book. She'd been reading for two hours straight while Eric had searched every corner of the house, seeking information about David and vampires.
He'd found out what he wanted to know when he'd discovered the room hidden behind the safe room that he'd destroyed. It had been a cache of vampire hunting paraphernalia, along with extensive runes carved on all the walls. It had smelled of stale blood that had turned Eric's stomach. Bad things had been in that room, but he hadn't been able to identify the specifics.
Grimly, he walked into the dining room and sat down across from Jordyn. Her hair had long ago fallen out of her ponytail, and it was curling in tangled tendrils around her neck. She looked exhausted, and he was filled with the urge to pick her up and carry her away from all this hell. She awoke in him feelings of protectiveness that he hadn't felt in a very long time, perhaps ever.
She made him want to be the man she thought he was. Just sitting there near her eased some of the torment in his soul, and it softened the voices screaming inside his head. The shadows that he hadn't managed to settle after the festivities in the basement eased back, giving him room to breathe, simply because he was near her.
He tipped his chair forward, giving him enough reach to pick up a tangle of her hair and run his thumb over the ends.
She looked up, a startled expression on her face. She saw him, and then she relaxed. "Oh, it's you. I didn't hear you come in."
"How is it that your hair is so soft? I didn't know it was possible." He continued to slide his fingers along the strands.
Jordyn smiled. "It's called conditioner."
"It's good." He bent his head, breathing in the scent. "It smells like lavender," he said. "With a touch of peach."
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "How on earth did you discern those scents? But yes, that's what it is, at least according to the bottle."
"We spent a lot of time in graveyards as kids. People leave flowers there. It always seemed incongruous, the beautiful flowers and all the hell that I called up. I used the flowers as an anchor, to remind myself that not everything in the world was like me." He idly watched the sunlight sparkle across the strands. "I haven't thought of flowers in a long time."
She put her hand over his. "Flowers are good," she said softly.
"Yeah, I know they are." He released her hair to enfold her hand in his. "Thanks for reminding me."
"You're welcome to sniff my hair anytime."
"Yeah? Be careful what you offer." He wanted to smile, which indicated just how good it felt to be near her. He never thought he'd be the guy who wanted to smile when he had no time to do so. "Tell me about Skye. You seemed to know each other." He knew they had to get to business. He had to tell her what he'd found, and he needed to know if she'd come up with anything. But for a minute, for a brief respite, he wanted to simply focus on her and to settle his soul. When he'd watched Jordyn and Skye talk to each other, the tangible bond between the women had been so beautiful that he'd wanted to walk over to them and breathe it in. He had that kind of bond with Tristan, but he'd never witnessed it between anyone else. It shouldn't surprise him that Jordyn was capable of that kind of connection, but it had still stunned him to be shown, yet again, what an incredible woman she was.
Genuine affection flashed across Jordyn's face. "Skye was a few years younger than I was," she said as she leaned back in her chair, apparently feeling the same need to be in the moment and step away from the gritty reality engulfing them. "Her dad was an extremely famous singer, but he was a terrible person. He had tons of drugs in his house, and an endless stream of groupies that came through there. Skye used to sneak out and hang out with me. I
felt protective of her, especially since I knew what it was like to have a terrible father."
Eric smiled at the tenderness in Jordyn's voice. "Always the one with the heart that's open to others," he said. "I'm sure she appreciated it more than you know."
Jordyn picked up his hand and traced the burn marks on his palm. "I liked helping her. It made me feel good to try to bring some brightness into the world. My grandmother was nice to her as well. David even took her under his wing. It was a team effort. She was such a spunky kid, and I didn't want her father to destroy her."
He was mesmerized watching her fingers stroke his palm. "I'm pretty sure no one has touched me like that in my entire life," he commented.
She glanced at him. "Like what?"
"Softly. Absently. As if touching me is the most natural thing in the world for you, so much that you don't even think about it. It just happens."
Her fingers stilled, and he instantly regretted bringing it up. He knew damn well that she didn't want anything between them, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her off. "She ended up moving away?" he asked, trying to draw her attention back to Skye.
Jordyn nodded, and began to trace the lines on his palm again. "Her dad sometimes took her on tour with him, and the last time they went, they never came back. His mansion just sat there empty. I never heard from her again, so when my grandmother died, I left. I always wondered what happened to her." She smiled. "I'm so glad she's okay, well, relatively speaking."
"She seems to still have her spunk," he agreed, wanting to draw out the conversation. He liked seeing the sparkle in her eyes. It made her face light up, which, in turn, made his gut clench with need, but he had the discipline not to launch himself at her. Right now, just sitting there with her felt like a treasured moment in time that he had to remember in perfect detail, because he'd never have another moment like this again.
"Do you think she's a NightHunter as well?" Jordyn asked, her face becoming troubled.
"I think David's trying to recruit her, yes." Grimly, he accepted the inevitable intrusion of reality. He grabbed a leather-bound folder that he'd set on the table, and he handed it to her. "He's not the only NightHunter," he said. "He's found others." He flipped open the cover and showed her a list of names, and the vampires they'd killed. He pointed to a man named Richard LaSalle. "I'm guessing that's our friend from downstairs," he said. "He'd killed seventeen vampires, but you can see from the notes that he'd been bitten badly eleven times."
Jordyn leaned forward to read, her hair falling across her face like a shield, cutting her off from him. He didn't like it, so he tucked her hair behind her ear, pulling it back from her face. "David wrote that he thinks Richard is turning." She looked at him. "You think he is the one who attacked Richard last night? Not a vampire?"
"I don't know." He thought back to the moment when David had been treating Richard. "I'd assumed he was trying to save him. It certainly felt that way."
Jordyn met his gaze, refusing to shy away from the truth, no matter how bad it might be. "What if he wasn't? What if David brought him back here to kill him?"
Eric thought back to Richard. There was no doubt the man had been crazed and deadly. He whistled softly and draped his arm across the back of her chair, instinctively using his body to shield her. "David kills his own teammates? He should die for that."
"No." Jordyn sat up, shoving the file away from her. "We don't know he's killed his own people. I'm not judging him." The turmoil of her emotions pressed at him. Doubt, mixed with sadness and love. "He was trying to save him. I could tell."
"I agree." And he did. David had definitely been trying to save Richard…but had he been trying to save his life, or save him from a fate worse than hell? Maybe David had concluded that Richard had become vampire, and he'd pulled the plug on the guy. Or maybe he'd really been trying to save his life all the way until the last moment. For Jordyn's sake, he wanted David to be the good guy, he really did.
Eric watched the play of emotions across Jordyn's face, and allowed them to filter over him. She didn't try to suppress her love for David, a deep, penetrating emotion of warmth that made dangerous energy ripple over him.
She looked sharply at him, apparently sensing the thunderous jealousy suddenly crashing through him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." There was no way on this earth he was going to admit he was jealous of that bastard, because he wasn't. Yeah, it grated at him that she got all soft-looking when she thought of David, and he wanted her to have that expression for him, but he was cool with it, right? Yeah, right. "What did you find out from the book?" he said gruffly.
"Oh, well." She sat back in her chair. "My grandmother was a NightHunter. David was correct."
Eric nodded. "Not surprising." He'd figured as much. "I'm guessing that spirit trapped in the shed was a vampire."
She nodded. "Yes. It was a vampire, but my grandmother trapped it instead of killing it because she was trying to figure out how to bring it back to sanity. She died before she could finish her project. Her goal was to find a way to make all vampires sane, but she didn't have much success. She apparently was the one who invented that powder I used to help that one vampire, but she never was able to make the effects last long. "
A small smile played across Eric's face. "Exactly what you would do as well," he observed. "A NightHunter who wanted to save what she was born to kill."
Jordyn nodded. "She did kill over a hundred, though." She sighed. "David's right about vampires in general. They've slaughtered so many innocents. My grandmother met only one vampire who was able to hold onto his humanity for the duration," Her gaze was troubled as it settled on his face. "There are hardly any like you," she said. "Except for that one vampire, even those who start off sane eventually all cross that line."
He shrugged. "I'm a special guy. We both knew that already, right?"
"It's not a joke, Eric." She touched his hand, her fingers brushing across his palm as if reassuring herself that he was really okay.
He squeezed her hand. "I know, honey. It's habit to diffuse the heavy shit with humor. Keeps me sane."
"Humor is the secret, then?" She managed a smile. "Then you should be all set."
"Without a doubt." He nodded at the book, not wanting to get to the point of having to make promises he couldn't keep. "What else is in there?"
She pulled back from him, focusing on the book again. "The first half is mostly the meeting notes for the guild. They were just getting started, so there isn't any new information on killing vampires in that part, just mostly the runes and beheading. I'm guessing David flipped through that section, and didn't bother to read the rest."
Eric sat up, his instincts firing up. "The rest?" He chuckled. "I knew the man was a thug. Of course he'd miss the real value in it. What did he overlook?"
"A lot." She flipped back several pages. "Look here. See this date?"
He leaned over her shoulder, enjoying the opportunity to inhale her scent again. "1595? Your grandmother wrote a journal entry in 1595?" He frowned, reading it again. "Mistake?"
"No." She sat back, and looked at him. "As it turns out, my grandmother was more than four hundred years old. She apparently led the team that was hunting Cicatrice back then. She tracked him to his mansion, which, ironically, is the same house that Skye grew up in four hundred years later. My grandmother went there intending to kill him, but instead, they fell in love."
He blinked. "What?"
"Roses, hearts, shooting stars, the whole nine yards. From mortal enemy to true passion and the kind of love that transcends everything else." She flipped to another page. "He even wrote her poems. See?"
The words were somewhat blurred and faded with age, but there was no doubt that there was something about roses, kisses, endless moonlight, and blood. "Damn."
"Yes, exactly." She closed the book. "An accomplished NightHunter and a master vampire, mortal enemies, fell madly in love. They exchanged blood enough times that she became immortal. So, true lov
e forever, right?"
He raised his brows. "No?"
"No. He was still a deadly killer, and he couldn't contain himself, even for her. One night, after he'd been sane for over a hundred years and had fed only from her, something set him off. She didn't write what it was, and I don't know if she knew. He slipped out and went hunting. He found a farmhouse, and he lost control. He killed the farmer and his wife, and was just heading for the children when my grandmother showed up."
He didn't need to ask. He knew enough about the strength of the women in Jordyn's family. "She killed him."
"Yes, she did." There was no pride in Jordyn's voice, just sadness, because she knew exactly what it was like to have the man she'd trusted betray her. "He stayed true to his nature, and she did what she had to do."
He touched her arm. "I'm sorry, Jordyn."
"There's more." She put her hand over his, but her fingers were cold. "For all those four hundred years when he was in the grave, he kept his spirit alive by feeding on hers. That's why she was so old when I knew her, because he had literally drained the life force from her until she died, taking away the immortality he'd granted her." Anger flooded her voice, and she set her hands on her hips. "Is that love? No. But he did it anyway, and when he sensed that she was dying, he tried to latch onto me."
Eric stared at her, grim realization settling in him. "So, Cicatrice wants you as a replacement for the woman he loved?"
"Her blood runs strong in me. We have the same magic. To him, I'm almost as good." She sagged against the seat, folding her arms across her chest, as if to ward off the memories. "That's why my grandmother spent so much time teaching me how to fend him off. She used to make me sleep out in the swamp by her side, and she would teach me how to weave safeguards against him that held even when I was asleep."
Eric leaned back in his seat, running his hand through his hair. Son of a bitch. A master vampire had been preparing to harvest Jordyn for decades, and now he was back, ready to finally make her his? Shit.
"My grandmother was so scared of him," Jordyn said. "But now I realize she was afraid for me, not for herself." She met Eric's gaze. "She was terrified I would suffer the same fate as she had." She gestured to the book. "Even after all that, even on the last day before she died, she wrote that she still loved him." She laughed bitterly. "It's the curse of the Leahy women," she said. "Love the wrong man until they destroy you. Four hundred years with him, and she could never get free." She pointed her finger at him. "That's why I can't love you, Eric. Do you get it? Seriously? Because loving the wrong man is a terrible, terrible curse that makes you sacrifice those you love."
Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel) Page 27