Cliff's Descent

by Dianne Duvall

  Half an hour later, just as the action in the movie was picking up, a faint thump outside reached her ears.

  Frowning, she muted the volume and glanced toward the front of the house. Blinds shielded the windows, beyond which a lone bulb lit the porch and part of the yard.

  No shadow passed by them. Nor did any more thuds break the silence.

  Had she imagined it?

  When it didn’t recur, she chalked it up to the movie making her jumpy. It was pretty creepy.

  Or perhaps she’d simply heard some nocturnal creature pouncing on unsuspecting prey. Nature surrounded her on all sides, and she’d seen a wide variety of animals pass by on their hunt for food. Maybe something had decided to snag itself one of the little field mice she’d had such a hard time keeping out when she’d first bought the place.

  With a mental shrug, she turned the movie back on.

  A loud knock shook her door.

  Emma damn near jumped off the sofa. Her neck popped as she jerked her head around to stare at the door with wide eyes. Her heart began to slam against her ribs as fear trickled through her.

  Who the hell would be knocking on her door this late at night?

  Who the hell would be knocking on her door at any time of day or night?

  No one she knew would do so without calling first. And deliverymen and women didn’t drop off packages at freaking midnight.

  As quickly and quietly as a mouse, she darted into her bedroom and grabbed the 9mm her father had bought her and trained her to use. Flicking off the safety, she returned to the living room and swung by the coffee table to tuck her phone in her pajama pants pocket in case she needed to call 911. Only then did she cautiously approach the door.

  Another knock thundered through the house.

  Adrenaline spiking, she peered through the door’s peephole.

  Shock rippled through her. “Oh shit,” she whispered. Setting the gun on the coatrack bench beside her, she hastily unlocked the dead bolt, then the knob, and flung open the door.

  Cliff stood before her, his big body blocking her view of the yard.

  Emma gaped up at him.

  He wore the standard blacks of network guards covered with a long black coat similar to that of an Immortal Guardian. His face, neck, and hands were streaked with blood. His clothing glistened with wet patches. And his eyes shone bright amber.

  She had never seen them so bright and knew it meant that whatever emotion roiled inside him was intense.

  Panic consumed her. “Cliff,” she breathed. Stepping onto the porch, she swiftly glanced around, terrified she might see soldiers in black approaching with weapons raised.

  When none materialized, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside.

  Her hands shook as she closed and bolted the door, her fingers leaving little streaks of blood on the white surface.

  Spinning around, she stared up at him. “What happened? Are you hurt?” Her gaze swept over him, noting every wet patch on his clothing, every ruby-red splotch on his skin. Was that his blood or someone else’s? “How did you get here? Are you hurt?” Closing the distance between them, she began to run her hands over his chest in search of wounds.

  Cliff grabbed her wrists to halt her frantic movements. His glowing eyes dropped to the points at which they touched. He drew his thumbs over her skin as if to confirm she was real. Then he met her gaze. “I need your shower,” he said, voice gruff.

  Heart pounding, she nodded. As soon as he released her, she pointed. “It’s through there.”

  Without another word, he strode toward it. His heavy boots thudded loudly in the quiet as he entered the short hallway, then turned in to the bathroom. The door closed. Water began to pound tile.

  Emma didn’t move.

  Cliff was here. In her home. What the hell had happened?

  Her thoughts raced around and around in her head, scrambling for purchase.

  Had he escaped? How the hell could he have escaped? There was so much security at the network! So many guards!

  But hadn’t Sebastien Newcombe successfully plowed his way through security two or three years ago?

  Yes. And rumor claimed Mr. Reordon still had it in for him. Some said Reordon had even gone so far as to call for Bastien’s execution after that.

  Oh crap. Reordon.

  The head of the East Coast division of the network would already be assembling special-ops teams to search for Cliff. He might even have Immortal Guardians out looking for him. And while she knew Bastien wouldn’t harm his vampire friend, the others would. They might even kill Cliff on sight.

  “Oh shit,” she whispered again. When she glanced down at her crimson-stained hands, a little shudder shook her. Racing over to the kitchen sink, she washed off the blood. She didn’t take time to dry her hands afterward. She just wiped them on her pants as she ran to her bedroom, her bare feet barely making a sound.

  Flipping on the lights, she dove for her closet and yanked out an oversized duffel bag. Tipping it upside down, she shook it hard. Skeins of yarn, long bamboo needles, and round plastic looms tumbled out, leftover supplies from when Cynthia had gone on a crafting kick and tried to teach Emma how to knit.

  Emma shoved it all aside and tossed the bag on the bed.

  She was darting back and forth from her dresser to the bed, stuffing clothing into the bag, when the bathroom door opened. Emma glanced toward the hallway.

  Cliff stepped out, his big body bare save for a white towel wrapped around his hips. Broad shoulders, a muscled chest, and washboard abs gleamed with a hint of moisture left behind from his shower. Little beads of water clung to the ends of some of his dreadlocks.

  Though she’d love to take the time to admire every delectable inch of him, Emma only looked long enough to determine he bore no injuries before she went back to packing.

  “I have a shirt that will fit you.” Sometimes she slept in large men’s T-shirts. “But you’ll have to wear the pants you came in.”

  He said nothing for a long moment. “Okay.”

  Delving back into her closet, she drew out the heavy lockbox. “Keys, keys, keys,” she whispered absently as she dropped it beside the bag on the bed. Where the hell had she put them?

  Right. The kitchen.

  Hurrying past Cliff and into the kitchen, she yanked open the junk drawer and retrieved the little ring of keys. She swung by the coatrack bench to retrieve the 9mm. Best to keep it handy since she had no idea when network soldiers might arrive and she was not going to let them shoot him. Then Emma headed back to the bedroom.

  Cliff still stood in the hallway outside the bathroom. Her bare arm brushed his as she swept past him. But she was too rattled to relish the brief skin-on-skin contact.

  “How long do you think we have?” she asked, setting the gun on the bed.

  “A couple of hours?” he said, the words ending on an up note as if he wasn’t certain.

  A couple of hours. “That’s more than I would’ve thought.” Frowning, she glanced over at him as she unlocked and opened the small safe. “Why aren’t you putting your pants back on?” Inside lay a stack of important documents; two exterior hard drives with backups of all her don’t-want-to-lose computer files, family photos, and videos; some keepsakes; and an envelope full of cash.

  She had thought her parents paranoid for recommending she keep the last on hand but was glad now she had done it to pacify them.

  “Emma,” he said softly.

  “What?” she responded absently. Where could they go? Where could they go that would make it harder for the network to find them?

  It would have to be someplace remote. Out of the country. With Cliff’s speed, he could get them across borders without needing passports. So that was a plus because she doubted he had one, and she didn’t want to use hers in case Reordon could track it.

  Maybe they could lose themselves in South America.

  “What are you doing?”

  She loo
ked at him. “Packing.” The amber glow in his eyes had diminished a bit. And now that he’d washed off the blood, he looked healthy and perfect and so damned lovable. “Right. Sorry.” Yanking open another dresser drawer, she drew out a green shirt in a men’s size large and tossed it to him. “Here.”

  He caught it easily but made no move to don it.

  “I don’t think we should risk taking the time to wash your pants.” She tucked the cash and hard drives into the bag, then added the laptop from her corner desk.

  “What exactly do you think has happened?” he asked, his voice cautious and quiet.

  Something in it made her pause. Turning, she stared at him. “You escaped,” she said. “And I don’t think it’s going to take the network two hours to send teams out looking for you, Cliff, so we need to hurry. Come on. Get dressed.”

  Clothing. Money. Laptop. Hard drives. Phone.

  Wait. Should she take her phone? Could the network track her that way?

  Maybe leave the phone.

  What else, what else, what else?

  The green shirt clutched in one fist, Cliff moved to stand before her, so close she could smell the soap he’d used when he showered and feel the heat from his body.

  Cliff was six feet tall or thereabouts. Emma was five-five, so she had to tilt her head back to look up at him.

  “And now you’re packing?”

  “Yes.”

  “To come away with me?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes flashed bright amber. “You would do that? You would leave everything behind and just… run away with me?”

  “Of course I would.” Reaching up, she cupped his strong jaw in one hand and stroked the stubble it bore. How often had she dreamed of touching him like this? “I don’t know how long we’ll be able to elude them, but—”

  He covered her hand with one of his and shifted it so he could press a kiss to her palm.

  The tender gesture made her fall silent, her heart aching. How she loved him. Sadie was right. Whatever ugliness lay ahead was worth every minute she could spend with him.

  “The network won’t be hunting me,” he told her, his deep voice gentle.

  If network special-ops teams weren’t hunting him, that could only mean one thing.

  A lump rose in her throat. Blinking back tears, she withdrew her hand, then slid her arms around his waist. The curly hair on his chest tickled her nose as she pressed her face to it and squeezed him tight… as though by doing so she could shield him and protect him. “The Immortal Guardians are hunting you?” she forced out, the words thick.

  With a two-hour head start, she had held at least some hope of escaping. Seth might be able to sense the location of other immortals, but he couldn’t do the same with vampires. Once she and Cliff got in her car—the old one, not the one she drove to work that the network had LoJacked—long miles would eliminate any path Cliff’s scent might leave for them. Avoiding main streets with traffic cams would further increase their chances of throwing them off. And the farther they drove, the more their chances of getting away would increase.

  But if immortals were already tracking him…

  Cliff’s strong arms closed around her. He rested his cheek on her hair and cuddled her close.

  Tears spilled over her lashes and coursed down her cheeks. This was all she’d wanted. To have Cliff in her arms. To have the freedom to love and be loved by him.

  But Immortal Guardians could arrive at any moment and—

  Wait. What the hell was she doing? Giving up?

  Though it killed her to do it, she gently backed out of his embrace. “Hurry and get dressed.” She swiped the tears from her cheeks. “If we leave now, there’s still a chance we can—”

  “Emma.” Cliff’s voice was oddly calm as he clasped her hands in his.

  “What?”

  “No one is hunting me.”

  She stared up at him, uncomprehending. “They don’t know you’ve escaped?” She shook her head. “How is that possible?” Now that he ate lunch in the cafeteria, everyone knew what he looked like. So it wasn’t as if he could just knock out a guard, put on his clothes, and slip out without anyone recognizing him.

  He squeezed her hands. “I didn’t escape.”

  She blinked. “I don’t understand. How else could you be here?”

  He smiled, the glow in his eyes dimming to brown. “Bastien has been taking me hunting.”

  “What?”

  “He’s been taking me out hunting a few nights a week.”

  Her chaotic thoughts struggled to catch up. “Hunting what?”

  His teeth flashed in a grin. “Hunting vampires.” But his grin faltered and fell away as uncertainty rose in his handsome features. “The… voices have gotten louder. It’s been harder for me to ignore the violent impulses they inspire.” And how she loved him for telling her that, for being honest about his condition. “Bastien hoped that giving me an outlet for the aggression would help, so he’s been taking me with him on his nightly hunts.”

  “Has it helped?” Was that why he’d seemed more relaxed lately?

  Some of the tension left his form. “Yes. It definitely helps.”

  Good. She squeezed his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shifted his weight and—releasing her—took a step backward. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.” He offered another helpless shrug. “It’s a hard thing to admit—that killing makes me feel better.”

  Of course it was. Cliff was a good man. “But you’re doing the same thing Immortal Guardians do. You’re killing men who murder innocents. Men who torture their victims before they drain them.”

  He shook his head. “I could’ve been one of those men, Emma.”

  “But you aren’t. Because you sought help. Because you’re fighting the madness instead of embracing it. Are the vampires you and Bastien kill fighting it? Do they want help?”

  He sighed. “No.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not going to fault you for executing serial killers, Cliff. I don’t think less of you, if that worries you.”

  He relaxed even more.

  “Where’s Bastien?” she asked. “Is he waiting outside?” Bastien had never accompanied Cliff to the cafeteria, so she had assumed he didn’t know she and Cliff had feelings for each other.

  He smiled. “No. He started letting me roam around unsupervised for a couple of hours each night. He thought I would have an easier time chatting up other vampires and surveilling them if I wasn’t accompanied by an Immortal Guardian.”

  Worry rose. “You’re surveilling other vampires? By yourself?” That sounded dangerous.

  He nodded. “Some of the other Immortal Guardians don’t like it, but they need information and Seth gave us the okay, so Bastien doesn’t care.”

  It still sounded too dangerous for her liking. “Does Bastien know…?” Does he know about us? she wanted to ask but was hesitant to say it because it sounded so intimate and their relationship had been strictly limited to friendship thus far.

  “Does he know about us?” he asked, apparently lacking her hesitation.

  “Yes.”

  “No.” His brow furrowed. “I wasn’t sure how he would react.”

  Then Bastien must think Cliff was out spying. “So in addition to hunting with him, you’re mingling with other vampires? Vampires you don’t kill?”

  “Yes.” His look turned watchful. “Are you worried they’ll sway me into joining them?”

  “What? No. Of course not. I’m worried they might realize you’re a spy and hurt you.”

  He laughed. “They can’t hurt me, Emma. Bastien trained me well. I’m as strong a fighter as he is.” The words were not spoken boastfully but matter-of-factly.

  At last it all began to sink in. Cliff hadn’t escaped. Bastien had taken him hunting to quell the voices, then let Cliff do whatever he wanted to for a couple of hours a night.

  Her heart b
egan to pound.

  And tonight he had chosen to spend those hours with her.

  “Cliff,” she whispered.

  His look turned watchful. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No.”

  Closing the distance between them, he cupped her face in his big hands and stared down at her with a tender smile that sent warmth coursing through her. “I can’t believe you were going to run away with me,” he said softly, his face full of awe and love and so much more.

  She swallowed hard. “I still would if you asked me to.”

  Those eyes of his flashed bright amber a second before he dipped his head.

  Her breath caught as he pressed his lips to hers in a tentative first kiss that was both sweet and sensual, as if he were waiting to see if she would pull away. But Emma had been fantasizing about this—about kissing him and touching him—ever since they’d started having lunch together in the cafeteria almost a year ago.

  Cliff hummed his approval when she kissed him back and explored his soft lips with growing fervency. Dropping his hands to her hips, he drew her closer and increased the pressure.

  Emma’s heart began to pound as desire heated her blood. Parting her lips, she invited him inside, then moaned at the first touch of his tongue. Every brush and stroke increased the fire building within her. Sliding her arms around him, she flattened her hands on the muscles of his broad back, his smooth skin warm beneath her fingers, the intimate feel of bare flesh against bare flesh merely heightening her need.

  A deep growl of approval rumbled up from his chest as he urged her tighter against him, breasts to chest. Abs to muscled abs. Hips to hips, letting her feel how hard he was beneath the towel.

  Excitement skittered through her. He felt so good. And damn, he could kiss. She didn’t think she’d ever been so turned on by the press of lips or the stroke of a tongue. But Cliff set her on fire.

  She’d wanted him for so long.

  The muscles of his back flexed beneath her fingers as she caressed them.

  And now, it would seem, she could have him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cliff’s heart hammered in his chest.