Lowering his head, he turned over his right hand and stared at his upturned palm, rubbing the thumb of his left hand against its center, as if working out an ache. She knew he’d decided to change the subject when he said, “From what I remember of Elaina’s stories, the Casus were a nasty piece of work. They get off on pain and fear. On agony and torture. That’s what makes them tick.”
“And this one is drawn to you,” she told him, shuddering at the memory of the foul creature from his nightmare. “Elaina believes that it needs you, but she’s not sure why.”
The violent cracks of lightning from the rumbling storm were the perfect complement to the hard strain of his expression, and she wanted to walk to him. Wanted to take that ruggedly beautiful face between her palms, stroking the hollows of his cheeks with her thumbs, and press a comforting kiss to his knitted brow. But she didn’t dare—and not because she didn’t trust him.
No, it was her own irrational needs that she didn’t trust.
He fisted his hand for a moment, then flexed his fingers, stretching them out, as if the simple gesture could release the heavy tension riding the rigid lines of his body. “So what now?”
“If you want to live, you need to learn how to bring it out. How to accept the change without fighting it.”
His gaze flicked back up to her face, brows drawn in a deep V over those impossibly blue eyes. “And you think that’s a good idea, after what I dreamed tonight? Whatever the fuck that thing was, Casus or not, what happened while I was fighting it wasn’t pretty, Molly. This thing inside of me wanted to tear its throat out.”
“You don’t have a choice,” she whispered. “You will fight it again, Ian, and when you do, you’ll need to be on even ground. Your mother says that until you’re able to accept what you are, you won’t be able to defeat it. And who’s to say that more won’t come after him? I know this isn’t what you wanted, but sometimes—sometimes we just have to accept the life we’re given and learn to go on.”
His gaze narrowed, piercing and dark. “And when I bring it out—if I’m even able to bring it out—how do we know I’ll be able to control it? What if this thing, this Merrick, is hungry?”
Heat climbed its way up from the center of her chest, over her throat, into her cheeks, impossible to hide from him. “I don’t think you would try to feed from me again,” she said hoarsely. “Not unless we were having sex, like we were in the dreams.”
He made one of those cocky, arrogant snorting sounds that only a guy could pull off. “You sure about that?”
“No, I’m not sure about anything right now. But what are you so afraid of? It didn’t kill me in the dreams. So what makes you think it would try to hurt me in reality?”
He scrubbed his hands down his face, as if he could wipe away the bleak expression falling over him like a shadow. “You didn’t see what that thing did to Kendra.”
“But you’re not like the Casus,” she argued, wishing she could make him understand. “You’re one of the good guys, Ian. One of the ones who saves the day, not destroys it.”
His smile was bitter. “Trust me, Molly. I’ve never been one of the heroes.”
“Your halo may be a little tarnished,” she whispered, her mouth twisting with a wry smile, “but you’re not bad. I’d be willing to bet my life on it.”
She could tell, instantly, from his grim expression that she’d said the wrong thing.
He stared at her for a long, hard moment, then suddenly surged to his feet so quickly that the chair crashed over backward behind him. “Christ, what is it with you?” he growled. “We only just met! You don’t know me. I hardly know myself right now!”
“I know you came here tonight to make sure I was okay,” she pointed out in a calm, quiet voice, “even though you don’t like me.”
He growled low in his throat, his muscles bulging beneath the golden sheen of his skin as he shoved his hands back through his hair, then let them fall loosely to his sides. “And after that dream, maybe I only came here because I wanted the chance to get in your pants again.”
“Considering the shape you were in when I opened the door,” she murmured, unfazed by his anger, “you’re going to have a tough time selling me that one.”
“And what if I do hurt you?” he demanded, crossing his arms over the broad width of his chest. “What then, Molly?”
“You won’t.”
He ground his teeth so hard that a muscle ticked in his jaw, then finally said, “That’s a helluva risk you’re willing to take for a total stranger. I can’t help but wonder why.”
She hesitated, her gaze sliding away for a moment, before she forced herself to meet the dark primal intensity of his stare. “Why isn’t important. What’s important is that I’m staying to see this through to the end.”
“Even though the Casus threatened you?” he rasped, studying her determined expression. “You’re the one in danger now, Molly. That changes everything.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to back down. “I knew the risk when I came here, Ian. It doesn’t change anything.”
“It damn well should,” he muttered, his jaw clenched, head lowered as he cut a sharp glare toward the floor. Another jarring, violent crack of lightning shook the thin walls of the motel, and she jumped, drawing his shadowed, heavy-lidded stare back to her face. Slowly, he shook his head, as if he didn’t know what to make of her. “I think you’re out of your mind, Molly, but it doesn’t matter. Even if you wanted to run, I wouldn’t let you. Not now. Not after tonight. There’s no telling how far this thing, this Casus, would go to get his hands on you. Until this is over,” he told her in a dark, angry slide of words, “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
CHAPTER NINE
Sunday Morning
MALCOLM DE KREZNICK , the Casus who had stolen tall, blond and blue-eyed Joe Kelly’s body strolled down the empty sidewalk in Henning without a care in the world. He enjoyed the warmth of the hot summer day, a new pair of designer sunglasses protecting his sensitive eyes from the bright glare of sunshine raining down from above. The summer storm had moved on with daybreak, the rustic mountain community quiet and still, but then it was Sunday morning, many of the residents attending religious services. His mouth twisted with a wry smile at the thought of all their pious prayers and earnest devotion, knowing that if he were to choose them, he could end their pitiful existence with such ridiculous ease it was hardly worth the effort. Like blowing out a flame. Poof. And the light was gone.
They could pray all they wanted for Kendra Wilcox’s immortal soul, but it wasn’t going to change her fate. It wasn’t going to bring her back. Malcolm had made sure that once he got his hands on her, there’d been little left to put in the ground.
Crossing the street, a low rumble of satisfaction warmed his throat as he thought of the kill.
The brunette bitch had been so much more exciting than the coarse animal fare that had sustained him since his return. She’d not only tasted sweeter, but he’d been able to “blood fuck” her, which had always been Malcolm’s favorite way to feed. And the way she’d fought him had only made it that much more satisfying.
It’d been so long, an eternity, since he’d enjoyed a proper meal. He’d almost forgotten how empowering it was, that perfect, breathtaking moment when the light finally dawned. When his prey realized they were staring death in the face, and he was able to feed on that sweet flood of fear as deeply as he fed on their flesh. Almost forgotten the hot burn of pleasure he took when they refused to give in, so potent and addictive.
And Kendra had fought hard.
Still, she hadn’t been enough. Had failed, in fact, to give him the power he needed to bring his brother through that metaphysical prison gate that trapped his kind within the holding ground they’d named Meridian. To bring him back from the hell that had imprisoned his kinsmen for century upon century, while their enemies continued to walk the earth.
Only now did they have hope. Hope that Anthony Calder had given them. The first of
their kind to establish order among the imprisoned Casus, Calder had mysteriously discovered a way to send a Casus through the gate and back to this realm. It was a difficult, draining process for Calder and his followers, and though there’d been serious doubts that it would actually work, Malcolm had been ecstatic when Calder accepted his petition to be the first.
But his freedom wasn’t the same without his brother, Gregory, there to share it with him. While Calder would eventually try to send others through the gate, Gregory would never be chosen. His brother was considered too unstable—too much of a risk—which meant that Gregory’s freedom was up to him.
Malcolm had been told that once he’d gained enough power, he should be able to bring a shade back on his own, ripping him back from the bowels of Meridian. Kendra had been an inspired kill, as well as a pleasure, but he wasn’t surprised that she’d failed to provide a strong enough feeding. After all, Calder had warned him that it would most likely take a Merrick to do the job.
That was why he needed Buchanan. Malcolm could have killed him last night, with little effort, but it’d been obvious that the bastard was still too green. Though he’d enjoyed scaring the shit out of him, until Ian Buchanan was fully awakened, there was no point in feeding from him. He hadn’t even had the first talisman that Calder had charged Malcolm with finding—the one thing that could provide him a bargaining chip for Gregory’s freedom, should Calder’s theory prove wrong.
Impatience rode him hard, but he had to hold firm and show restraint. Traits not common to his kind, but Malcolm knew his brother’s freedom could very well hinge on his success, and the rules were simple. Kill the bastard too early, and the feeding wouldn’t be enough to get the job done. To get the full dose of power he needed, the Merrick living within Buchanan had to be at full strength at the time of his death.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks, Malcolm pulled in a slow, deep breath and shook off his frustration.
Yes, he could wait. It would be worth it. And in the meantime, he could always keep entertaining himself with the local fare. He’d been cautioned endlessly about the need to be careful in these modern times—that their kills couldn’t be as rampant as before, when the Casus had ruled the night with fear, as powerful as bloody kings. But he’d been determined to leave the Wilcox woman out in the open, just so he could screw with Ian Buchanan’s mind.
Witnessing the bastard’s rage over her death had been worth the risk of a little exposure.
For now, he’d enjoy tormenting Buchanan for as long as it took, tightening the screws, while waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He’d even make a point of getting his hands on that particularly tasty little blond.
And, of course, there was that pesky matter of the interruption last night that he needed to look into. That had been unexpected, and he needed to be better prepared before he made his next move.
Until then, Malcolm planned on enjoying his newfound freedom. The body he’d taken wasn’t half-bad, though the life attached to it could be described as nothing more than embarrassing. You would think someone with Casus blood running through his veins would have amounted to more in this world, but Joe Kelly’s accomplishments were as mundane as his name.
Not that Malcolm was complaining. He still couldn’t believe his luck that he’d been chosen as the first of his kind to return. Nor could he decide if it was because his kinsman had been sure he would succeed—or because Calder considered him expendable if things didn’t initially go according to plan. And in truth, he didn’t care. Whatever Calder’s reason for choosing him, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d have turned down the opportunity. Meridian held no life—and without life, how could you feed on the pleasures of death? That was why the Casus had grown weak, wasting so many pointless years fighting amongst themselves. It wasn’t until they’d finally begun listening to Calder that they’d been able to unite and work together toward a common goal. That goal being freedom, as well as revenge.
And this first taste of revenge was going to taste, oh, so sweet.
Tilting his face up to the sun, Malcolm basked in its warm glow, a deep breath filling his lungs with the fertile scents of the forest, such a refreshing change from the cold, rotting decay of Meridian. Turning at the end of the block, he continued making his way through the center of town, humming softly under his breath. When he reached the next street corner, an elderly woman wearing a Help Kendra’s Family T-shirt, a donation bucket clutched in her frail hand, approached him with an appropriately somber smile.
“We’re collecting money for Kendra Wilcox’s funeral expenses. Her mother’s a widower and is in desperate need of the kindness of strangers.”
“I’d be happy to help out,” Malcolm murmured, searching in his front pocket and pulling out a roll of bills. He enjoyed a silent chuckle, appreciating the irony of the situation. After all, he’d taken the money off Kendra Wilcox’s broken, bleeding body. Or at least what was left of it.
“Thank you, sir. It was such a tragedy, what happened to the poor girl. If ever there was a time to be neighborly, it’s now. God bless you.”
Glancing at the photograph pasted to the side of the bucket, Malcolm shook his head with mock sympathy. “She was a beautiful girl. That picture doesn’t really do her justice.”
The woman’s gray brows knitted with compassion. “You knew Kendra?”
“Oh, yes,” he drawled as he started across the street. Looking back over his shoulder, Malcolm struggled to conceal his slow, satisfied smile. “You could even say she helped make me what I am today.”
CHAPTER TEN
Sunday, 10:30 a.m.
STANDING WITH HER BACK propped against the counter in the small kitchenette, Molly took a fortifying sip of coffee, thinking she could drink an entire pot and still feel weary. She’d slept like hell, but at least the storm had finally moved its way through by dawn. Eventually, she’d managed to catch a few hours of rest, before Elaina had contacted her with another message. After that, she’d awakened to the bright burn of morning sunshine glowing around the dark green curtains that hung over the lone window, unable to fall back asleep.
As she’d rolled over to climb out of bed, she’d been met with the breathtaking sight of Ian Buchanan sprawled facedown over the neighboring queen bed. The intricate tattoo at the top of his spine had instantly caught her eye, somehow calling to her. She’d wanted to reach out and stroke it with the tips of her fingers—the oddest sense of certainty rushing through her blood that it would have been warm to the touch, pulsing with heat, with a strange, latent power—but she’d resisted, out of self-preservation more than anything. Because once she’d put her hands on him, she didn’t think she’d have been able to stop. He was too beautiful, his dark shoulders gleaming against the white sheets that swept low across the sleek contours of his back, his powerful arms clutched around his pillow, partly shielding the rugged perfection of his face, thick lashes lying like dark smudges of ink against his cheeks, while he slept like the dead.
Not that she blamed him. He’d barely had time to rest the past few days and it was obvious the fight with the Casus, as well as the internal struggle he’d waged against the Merrick side of his nature, had taken its toll on him.
After his stunning declaration that he intended to keep her under his protection, they’d made a silent truce in the face of exhaustion and gone to bed. Ian had crawled between the sheets wearing his towel, then pulled it off and tossed it on the end of the bed, leaving Molly torn between a keen sense of regret that she didn’t get to see him in the raw…and piercing relief that she wasn’t being faced with that kind of devastating temptation. Borrowing her cell phone, he’d left a quick message for his brother, Riley, telling him that something had come up and he’d be in touch when he could, along with a strong warning to watch his back and be careful. Then she’d turned out the light and crawled into her own bed. For long minutes, she’d lain there, listening to the quiet sound of Ian’s breathing and the hypnotic rhythm of the poundi
ng rain against the thin roof of the motel, while wondering if they would share another dream…worrying over what the next day would bring.
And now that she’d received Elaina’s latest directive, she couldn’t help but speculate as to how cooperative he would be.
She was still standing beside the sink in the kitchen when he finally came in, wearing nothing but his dirty jeans, the top two buttons undone, revealing a compelling shadow that drew her gaze. His chest was bare, skin dark and bronzed in the low glow of light spilling in from the bedroom.
“Coffee?” she asked a bit hoarsely, noticing that his beard had grown in thicker during the night, darkening his jaw, accentuating the mesmerizing color of his eyes. He nodded, sinking his long, rangy body into one of the chairs, the cuts on his arm and rib cage looking remarkably better. Molly poured him a cup, then grabbed the pack of cigarettes and matchbox off the counter and took everything to the table, where an ashtray already sat in the center.
“Where did those come from?” he grunted, eyeing the cigarettes, his voice still rough from sleep, sounding warm and rich and scratchy, not to mention incredibly sexy.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t leave the room,” she told him with a slight smile, taking a chair on the other side of the small table as she tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear. She’d already taken her shower and thrown on jeans and a shirt. Her face was freshly scrubbed, and she’d left her hair to dry naturally, hoping it’d behave, but the damn curls had a mind of their own. “I called up to the front desk a while ago and asked if they could put them on my tab, then just leave everything outside the door.”
“That was awfully nice of you,” he drawled, the low, silken words just shy of being snide. His gaze slid away from hers as he reached for the pack and stripped off the plastic outer wrapping. Molly’s smile slipped at his tone.
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