Edge of Hunger

by Rhyannon Byrd

  Her mouth curled with a ghost of a smile. “You were adorable, Ian. And you’re actually grinning. I almost didn’t recognize you without a scowl on your face.”

  “Very funny,” he drawled, rolling his eyes.

  “Look at this…at the edge of the frame. The pattern’s been worn down where someone has held it.” A terrible sense of sadness bloomed deep within her chest as she smoothed the tip of one finger against the worn patch, wondering how many times Elaina must have clutched the frame in her grasp. Lifting her gaze, she caught his guarded expression as she handed him the photograph. “Elaina must have missed you very much.”

  “Christ,” he rasped, rubbing his thumb against the smooth patch of wood.

  Blinking, Molly fought the hot glow of emotion burning at the back of her eyes and throat. She could see the regret etched into the rugged, beautiful angles of his face. For all his macho blustering, there was a scarred, tender core at Ian Buchanan’s center. He might have been tarnished and battered and a little rough around the edges, but he was still solid and strong and good. She knew there had to be something more behind his rift with Elaina—something deeper than teenage rebellion and arguments. Whatever it was, it’d been enough to keep them apart—a fact that he now regretted. And in that moment, something inside Molly shifted into a sharper focus.

  She’d been touched by his reaction to Kendra Wilcox’s death—but the depth of emotion revealed in his expression as she stood there beside him—God, it melted her. Made him so much more real to her. Changed him from the surly, too-gorgeous-for-his-own-good womanizer, the cynic she needed to guard herself against, to a man with incredible depth and compassion. And that made him dangerous to her in a way that no amount of physical desire could ever do.

  He’d already been a threat to her defenses—now he was a threat to her heart.

  Holding out the journal, she gently said, “You should take this, Ian. There must be something in here, something important, for her to have left it with the cross.”

  “Just put it back in the box with this,” he rasped, handing her the photograph. “We can take the whole thing, along with the case.”

  “And you’ll read the journal?” she pressed, replacing the lid on the shoe box, then stacking the cross’s black case on top.

  Rubbing at the back of his neck, Ian gave a low, shaky laugh. “Naw, but you should. Maybe there’ll be something in there that we need.”

  “I don’t know,” she told him, feeling uneasy as he picked up the shoe box and case. “They weren’t left to me. It feels like it would be an invasion of privacy.”

  “Hell, she’s been sneaking into your head for months now, Molly,” he drawled, heading for the open door. “Don’t be such a Girl Scout. Seems only fair that you would get to read her journal.”

  “Ian, you don’t really think she can…”

  “Read your mind?” he finished for her, shooting her a teasing look over his broad shoulder, the regret that had carved his features only moments before hidden, as if it’d never existed, behind a wickedly sexy grin. But she wasn’t about to forget.

  No, Molly was on to him now. She’d have even returned his smile, if she wasn’t feeling quite so uncomfortable about the idea of his mother snooping around in her mind, especially considering the way she’d been thinking about his body last night. Gaack. Talk about embarrassing.

  “Ian, I’m serious,” she said, her tone dismal as they stepped out into the bright glare of afternoon sunshine, the heat rolling up from the asphalt in a searing, stifling wave. “Do you think she can really do that?”

  “Hmm, I dunno.” He shifted the items under his arm as he locked the door behind them. “Anything interesting in there you wouldn’t want her to know about?” he asked in a suggestive drawl.

  The blush firing beneath her skin said more than any words, and his shoulders shook with a soft, husky rumble of laughter. But instead of teasing, he took mercy on her and changed the subject, saying, “After we get back to the motel, we need to try and figure out who this Scott guy is. I’ll put a call in to Riley and see if he can get us an address.”

  Molly almost managed a grin as she climbed into the truck. “That would be wonderful.”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t happen often, but there are times when ol’ Saint Riley comes in handy.” He laughed drily, and a minute later, they were on the road, traveling beneath the brilliant glare of a lemon-yellow sun, surrounded by the rugged beauty of the mountain forest that hugged the narrow highway. It was a peaceful, idyllic setting, oddly comforting, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to be doing, driving down the road with Ian Buchanan, the radio playing softly in the background. But as Molly rubbed her fingers against the intricately etched surface of the cross, its power thrumming against her skin, warm to the touch…she couldn’t help but worry about the darkness that lay ahead.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SECOND IAN OPENED the weathered door of Molly’s motel room, he knew someone was there. Throughout the day, he’d had the strangest sensation of acute awareness, as if he were sensing everything with an intensity that wasn’t normal. Sounds. Sights. Smells. Each of them amplified and sharp.

  Though the Merrick wasn’t trying to fight its way out of him, its presence was lingering, heightening his abilities.

  His nostrils flared as he breathed in the dark, clean, woodsy scent of the trespasser, and he scanned the room, looking for anything that was out of place. Reaching behind him, he grabbed on to Molly’s wrist, holding tight, a gentle squeeze warning her to be silent as he slowly pulled her into the room. He pressed her against the wall just inside the doorway, his back plastered to her front.

  He could tell by its scent that the intruder wasn’t Casus—but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t dangerous. Wasn’t a threat. Because the scent definitely wasn’t human.

  Cutting a quick look over his shoulder, he mouthed the words, “Don’t move,” to Molly, then slowly moved toward the center of the room, bitterly aware of the Merrick shifting within him, demanding more information. Like an animal, it wanted to lift its nose and sniff at the air, its bright eyes alert to danger. It was letting him know that it wasn’t docile—that it intended to do its part to protect their woman.

  Whoa. Their woman?

  The jarring thought slammed into Ian’s brain like a hammer, stunning him, and he scowled, choking off a vicious curse when a light thread of sound came from the small kitchen. Keeping his arms loose at his sides, he flexed his hands, ready to take down whatever the hell was about to come through that doorway.

  “You needn’t try to sneak up on me,” came a deep, lazy drawl from the other room. “I already know you’re there, and as corny as it sounds—” there was a slight muffled sound, like someone snickering under their breath “—I come in peace.”

  Stopping in the center of the room, Ian rolled his head over his shoulders, keeping his weight light on his feet as he muttered, “If that’s so, then get your ass out here and show your face.”

  A chair screeched against the linoleum, and then a dark shadow fell across the floor, through the archway, seconds before a tall, dark-haired man filled the space.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Ian growled.

  The stranger arched one dark brow, his hard mouth twitching just a little at one corner. “Charming,” he murmured.

  Jerking his chin toward the intruder, Ian said, “You know this guy, Molly?”

  “Um…no,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  If she had, Molly knew she would have remembered him. He was too striking to ever forget, and if asked to describe him, the first word that would have come to mind was dark. Dark hair, shorn close to his scalp, his features…perfect, like something that had been sculpted from marble. Dark eyes burning within thick black lashes, beneath the dark slash of his brows. Even his skin was dark, burnished a deep gold with a slight reddish undertone, attesting to what had to be a Native American ancestry, especially with those
striking cheekbones. He wore a plain white T-shirt and dark blue jeans, with brown hiking boots on his feet.

  “What the hell are you doing in her room?” Ian demanded in a strained voice, while the stranger hooked his thumbs in his front pockets and leaned his shoulder against the side of the archway.

  “No need to get your back up. I’m not here about the woman, as tempting as she is. I’m here because of you, Merrick.”

  Molly choked back a gasp, thankful she’d slipped the cross inside her T-shirt before they’d climbed out of the truck. Whoever this guy was, he was somehow involved in the nightmare closing in around them. Until she knew which side he was on, she wasn’t about to reveal their secrets.

  “My name is Buchanan,” Ian snarled, his voice unusually guttural, and for a moment, Molly wondered if the darkness inside of him—the Merrick —was about to break free.

  As if impervious to the danger of that possibility, a low, coarse burst of sound that could have been a laugh rumbled in the stranger’s throat. “Ah, but you’re more Merrick than anything else. Even more than you’re human. So let’s not play word games,” he drawled with the barest inflection of a Western twang.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Ian demanded, “And what exactly do you want with me?”

  “Kierland Scott sent me. I believe you might be familiar with the name.”

  “You know Scott?” Ian grunted, and Molly wondered if his shock matched her own.

  The stranger inclined his dark head with a fraction of movement. “You could say I work with Kierland. He’s asked me to bring you to Ravenswing. Both of you.”

  “Ravenswing?” Molly repeated, at the same time Ian snorted, saying, “And what in God’s name makes you think we’d go anywhere with you?”

  “Those marks on your arm,” the man remarked in a quiet rumble, gesturing with one sun-browned, long-fingered hand toward the scratches revealed beneath the edge of Ian’s short sleeve. “I know what made them. They’re called the Casus, mortal enemies of the Merrick. If you come with me, we’ll teach you what you need to know in order to survive.”

  “We?” Ian rasped.

  “The men I work with. We’re called the Watchmen.”

  Ian made a rude sound under his breath. “The Watchmen, huh? Sounds like some kind of eighties rock band.”

  A slow, hard smile spread across the stranger’s mouth. “I can assure you we’re not, though Aiden’s been known to play a mean Mozart on the piano. If you’re as smart as we’ve been led to believe, you’ll realize how lucky you are to have us on your side.”

  “Is that right?”

  The stranger lifted his dark brows. “Who do you think ran off the Casus last night in the woods?”

  “That was you?” Molly whispered, moving to Ian’s side, which earned her a hard, intimidating glare as he uncrossed his arms. “If you’re here to help, why now? Why not before he got ripped to shreds by that maniac?”

  “Molly ,” Ian growled, obviously taking exception to her words, but she merely grabbed hold of his hand, the surprising gesture startling him into silence. For a moment, his hand remained rigid in her grasp, but then his long, warm fingers curled around her smaller ones, holding tight. Smiling to herself, she wondered if he’d ever actually held hands with a woman before, then jerked her attention back to the stranger, who watched them closely, his dark eyes taking everything in.

  “Interference is not our way,” he explained. “Our purpose is to remain neutral, to keep watch over those who are not human and report our findings to the Consortium. But we’ve broken the rules, I guess you could say, in this case, because the battleground is no longer an even playing field. Until you know how to protect yourself, the Casus is at an advantage, which became clear last night. These are strange, unprecedented times, and our unit has decided that allowances have to be made, whether the Consortium gives their consent or not.”

  “The Consortium?” she asked, her questions mounting as she thought over what he’d said.

  “It’s a complicated story,” he murmured, “and one I’m certain Kierland would rather explain himself.”

  “You know,” Ian muttered at her side, “I’ve never trusted anyone who claims to be neutral. Usually means they’re just too chickenshit to pick a side.”

  “I assure you, Merrick, we are not cowards,” the stranger responded with a sharp smile, the look in his onyx-colored eyes even sharper. Molly shivered in reaction, and Ian gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

  “I still haven’t heard a good reason why we should go with you,” he said in a quiet rasp, the gritty tone as challenging as his body language.

  “Because if you don’t, you’ll die. It’s as simple as that. And once the Casus kills you, he’ll start in on your woman. You’ve been safe so far during the day, but what about tonight? Or tomorrow night? The night after that? Do you trust yourself to be able to protect her when it makes its next move?”

  Turning his head, Ian stared down at Molly, knowing he didn’t have a choice. If it was just his life on the line, he probably would have taken his chances. But he couldn’t roll the dice where Molly’s life was concerned. She didn’t deserve it, just as she didn’t deserve getting dragged into the middle of what was turning out to be a living, breathing nightmare.

  Looking back toward the dark-eyed stranger, Ian held the man’s stare as he said, “You still haven’t given us a name.”

  White teeth flashed in a hard, satisfied smile. “My friends call me Quinn.”

  AFTER GRABBING ANOTHER round of burgers and fries for their dinner, it took nearly an hour of traveling on the winding mountain roads, climbing to a higher elevation, before they finally reached the place Quinn called Ravenswing. There was no doubt that the Watchmen compound, as he’d described it, had been aptly named. Nestled between the base of a sheer cliff and a smooth lake that gleamed like black oil in the moonlight, the compound’s largest building possessed a sweeping roof that resembled the fluid arc of a bird’s wing, flaring up at the far end as if curved in flight. Reflecting the infinite, star-studded darkness of the sky, the surface of the large, three-storied structure glittered like black diamonds.

  “Ohmygod,” Molly breathed in a stunned murmur of awe.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Quinn rumbled from the backseat of Ian’s truck, an unmistakable thread of pride in his deep voice.

  “It’s magnificent,” she replied, while the massive gates that blocked the private driveway swung to a close behind them.

  “The entire compound is fenced,” Quinn explained. “We have surveillance equipment running 24-7. Whoever is manning the control room tonight recognized your truck. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have opened the gates.”

  “How long have you been watching Ian?” Molly asked, staring with wide-eyed fascination out the window as they drove up the winding drive that led to the main building, an array of smaller structures just visible through the inky darkness. As they’d made the journey, Quinn had confessed that the Watchmen knew about her conversations with Elaina and the reason she’d come to Henning, Colorado, since they’d been watching Ian closely, monitoring his awakening. But he hadn’t explained how long Ian had been under their surveillance.

  “The Buchanan line has always been one of our top interests,” Quinn murmured, avoiding a straight answer. Molly was ready to press him for more information, when Ian pulled to a slow stop near what appeared to be the entrance into the building…or house…since she still wasn’t certain of its function. Opening the back passenger’s side door, Quinn climbed out, leaving them alone within the intimate cab of the truck.

  Aware of the warmth of Ian’s stare on her profile as she leaned forward, still gazing in awe at the beautiful structure through the windshield, Molly turned and found herself captured in the glittering depths of his eyes. There was a silent message in that mesmerizing blue gaze—for her to be careful, to stay close to him. She wondered if he felt the same nervous certainty that she did—that they were getting ready to embark up
on a new leg of this…she stumbled over what to call it. Journey? Quest? Whatever it was, they were drawing nearer to the end…to the moment when Ian would have to face what was inside of him, as well as the evil hunting him down.

  Lowering her gaze to his mouth—to the hard, sculpted perfection of his lips—she sent him a small, trembling smile that bloomed up from that shaky knot of emotion churning deep inside of her. A low sound lost somewhere between a groan and a visceral growl slipped from his lips, and he reached out, capturing her chin in the callused hold of his fingers.

  Before Molly could prepare herself, he leaned across the center console and pressed the hot, damp, delicious heat of his mouth against hers. The warm, shivery sensation in the pit of her stomach sparked into a fiery burst of craving, and she moved her mouth under his, undone by the rough-silk texture of his lips. By his warm, rich scent and intoxicating taste. With just the simple touch of his mouth, he held perfect, complete mastery over her body, her will—and the fading bite marks on her throat began to slowly pulse with heat. She would have gone anywhere with him—done anything with him —just to get more of that dark, decadent pleasure.

  Thankfully, Ian had the frame of mind to realize that now wasn’t the time or place. Breaking the kiss, his breath surged against her mouth, gritty and rough, as if it’d taken a physical effort for him to stop. The air closed in around them, lust-thick and heavy with warmth, despite the cool burst of the air conditioner blowing in from the vents. “No matter what happens, you stay close to me,” he breathed against the sensitive surface of her lips.

  “I will,” she whispered. “I promise.”

  He stamped the impression of his mouth against hers one last time, hard and fast, then pulled away. Shivering from the inside out, Molly forced herself to turn and open her door, then climbed out into the lingering heat of the evening.

  THE MOMENT he came around the back of the truck, Ian stepped closer to Molly’s side, surprising both her and himself as he settled his hand at her lower back in a silent, yet unmistakable gesture of possession.