Quinn stood just outside the opened double doors that led inside the building, talking with another man. Moving closer, Ian could see that the guy’s dark, windswept auburn hair fell over his brow, his pale green eyes sharp with awareness as he watched them make their way toward the door. He was as tall as Quinn, the lean muscles stretching the seams of his blue T-shirt attesting to the fact that he lived a hard, physical life.
It didn’t escape Ian’s notice that Molly couldn’t take her eyes off the pretty-faced asshole, and it pissed him off. All of it. All the ways in which this woman affected him. But what irritated him the most was the fact that he even noticed her reaction to another man. That had never happened to him before, which seemed to be some kind of warped theme in their bizarre relationship, this constant discovery of new ways she could get to him.
He didn’t like the uncomfortable feeling in his gut, either—the one telling him to throw off his jackass-of-the-year routine and just play nice with her. Playing nice with women like Molly Stratton gave them ideas—expectations he didn’t have a chance in hell of ever meeting. Not that he wanted to meet them. He just wanted to have sex with her. To take hold of her sweet little body, lay it over the nearest flat surface he could find, and learn how she tasted from the top of her head down to her dainty little feet. Then he’d get this infuriating itch for her out of his system once and for all.
And he’d have done it, too, if he’d been able to dredge up so much as an ounce of faith that once he got her under him, spread and penetrated, he’d be able to control himself. That he wouldn’t slip over into that dark, slick pool of hell lurking beneath his skin, and end up hurting her. End up sinking his fangs into her pale little throat and accidentally killing her.
Molly could sit and tell him he was one of the good guys until she turned blue in the face, but it wasn’t going to change the fact that he didn’t trust himself with her, that he feared what he’d do to her if he got her beneath him.
By the time they reached Quinn and the redhead, Ian’s jaw was clenched, his expression pulled into a tight, hard scowl. The stranger’s pale green eyes met his, and Ian sneered, “Let me guess. Kierland Scott?”
“At your service,” Scott murmured with just the trace of a British accent rounding out the edges of his speech. The bastard had the audacity to send Molly a flirtatious grin as he took hold of her right hand, leaning down to press a kiss against the delicate ridge of her knuckles.
“Watch it,” Ian warned, the words so low, they were barely audible.
Scott merely arched a brow in response, and Molly pulled her hand from his grip with a soft, nervous murmur of sound.
“Let’s take this inside,” Quinn said, shaking his head at their male posturing. “I could use some coffee.”
“This way,” the redhead drawled, the corner of his mouth kicking up at one corner as he flicked a quick glance at the possessive hold Ian had on Molly’s waist. Gritting his teeth, Ian held her tighter, pulling her more closely against his side as they followed after the jackass, while Quinn shut the doors behind them.
The rich, intoxicating smell of cedar and wood polish filled the air, and Ian glanced upward at the exposed beams that crossed the high ceiling of the wide hallway, then down at the thick stretch of burgundy carpet running along the center of the gleaming hardwood floor. Despite its modern exterior, the inside of Ravenswing conveyed nothing short of wealthy, rustic comfort, warm and inviting. It seduced the senses, the colors as soothing as they were bold.
Opening a thick, double set of intricately carved pine doors, Scott led them into a massive, equally high-ceilinged kitchen, complete with terra-cotta tiling, gleaming black appliances, rows of cabinets that matched the doors, and a mass of gleaming copper pots hanging from three wrought iron pot racks.
Two long tables ran down the center of the room, but Scott gestured them toward a smaller oval table that sat in a windowed alcove off to the left, the glinting surface of the lake visible beyond the glass. “I’ll grab the coffee,” Quinn said to Scott. “You go ahead and get started. I think they’ve got some questions they’d like to ask you.”
Ian snorted under his breath, thinking that must be the understatement of the year. He was about to pose the first of what he expected would be many when Molly slipped into one of the high-backed wooden chairs and immediately said, “What can you tell us about the Merrick?”
“How much do you already know?” Scott asked, folding his tall body into a wide chair on the opposite side of the table, while Ian did the same with the chair at Molly’s right.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, she ruefully admitted, “I’m afraid we don’t know much, really.”
Leaning back in his seat, Scott rubbed his hand against the bristled surface of his jaw, slanting a shuttered look toward Ian. “I assume your mother talked to you about the Merrick.”
Pulling his pack of cigarettes from his shirtfront pocket, Ian took one and wedged it between his lips; at the same time Scott reached toward the counter behind him and grabbed an ashtray. Using his lighter, Ian lit the tip of the cigarette and took a slow drag before replying. “She talked of ancient ancestors who she claimed once walked the earth. Said they were more than human. Powerful. Primal. Something that existed between man and…and something darker…more visceral in its nature.”
“She was right,” Scott murmured, eyeing his cigarette with a hungry intensity that made Ian wonder if the guy had recently quit.
“Where did they come from?” he asked, flicking his cigarette at the ashtray.
Scott took a deep breath, as if collecting his thoughts, then slowly began. “No one really knows where they came from or how they came into being. But it’s believed they lived throughout Europe, easily blending in with humanity when they needed to, which enabled their numbers to thrive. They consumed blood in order to feed the primal parts of their nature, though they didn’t kill their victims. Instead, they lived in peace, respecting their human brothers and feeding only from other Merrick and gypsy tribes who were aware of their existence. The gypsies traded their blood for the protection the Merrick offered from those clans who were sometimes aggressive toward the tribes.”
Molly slanted him a meaningful look, and Ian knew she was thinking of that first dream they’d shared on Friday night, when he’d taken her on the ground in the middle of a gypsy campsite. Her cheeks flushed with color, and she delicately cleared her throat, cutting her gaze back to Scott. “So there were other clans?”
Scott nodded. “The Merrick, though one of the most powerful, were only one of many, the abilities of the various clans differing as widely as their physiology. Some only partially altered when in their primal forms, like the Merrick. Others fully transformed, able to take the shape of an animal, similar to those of us who make up the Watchmen today. Others couldn’t venture out into the light, living only from blood. Some had talents that involved telepathy, others the ability to live underwater or to master the skies. The variety was as rich as it was diverse. And for the most part, the clans lived in peace with one another, hidden among the humans, until the Casus came on the scene sometime during the second half of the first millennium.”
“Were the Casus also one of these ancient clans?” Molly asked, murmuring a soft thank-you to Quinn as he placed a mug of coffee before her on the gleaming surface of the table.
Taking a heavy sip from his own cup, Scott shook his head, the golden gleam of the recessed lighting glinting off the auburn strands of his hair. “At first, yes. They came from an isolated clan that roamed the European continent. Several of the ruling families, believing their bloodlines were not only the purest but also the most powerful in terms of physical strength and ability, became fanatical about breeding for the purity of their species. They matched brother with sister, parents with offspring. At first, because of their isolation, their actions went unnoticed by the Consortium. But within a few generations, it became apparent that the inbreeding had brought about dangerous, unforeseen consequences
. Rather than keeping the purity of the line intact, their biology mutated. They had bred themselves into immortal beings of incredible strength, but their power came with a price. They became slaves to an intense, overwhelming hunger, evolving into what we know today as the Casus, meaning violent death. ”
“An appropriate name,” Molly whispered, wrapping her arms around her middle, as if to ward off a chill, though the room remained pleasantly warm.
“Yes, it was,” Scott agreed, his gaze lingering on her face in a way that made Ian want to snarl at him. Biting his tongue, he took another drag on his cigarette, listening as the Watchman went on with his explanation. “The Casus began hunting humans as their main food source, discovering that they grew stronger when they not only fed upon their victim’s blood, but their flesh, as well. All they knew was death and destruction, like a black plague that annihilated everything within its path.”
Exhaling a short stream of smoke, Ian said, “My mother would often talk about the Casus hunting the Merrick.”
“And she was right. They soon learned that the stronger their victim, the greater their rush of pleasure and power when they fed. The Merrick, being one of the strongest of the ancient clans, soon became their favorite food source, though they continued to sustain themselves on human kills, also. Intent on protecting both humanity and their own species, the Merrick went to war against the Casus, with the blessing of the Consortium. The two clans battled for years, until, with the help of the Consortium, a plan was finally devised to imprison the Casus.”
“What the hell’s the Consortium?” Ian asked, stubbing out his cigarette, then immediately taking another from the pack. “I’ve never heard of them before tonight.”
“The Consortium,” Scott explained, “is a body of officials drawn from each of the original ancient clans, like a preternatural United Nations. Their purpose is to settle disputes, to keep peace among the differing species, while working to preserve the secrecy of the remaining clans from the human world. They’re a bureaucracy, more than anything, often bogged down in politics and personal agendas—though they do help keep the lines of communication open between groups that would otherwise avoid interaction. The Watchmen were formed from various shape-shifting clans as the Consortium’s eyes and ears around the world. Now we monitor the different species and known bloodlines that are still in existence, like the Merrick, and then report back with our findings. If action is required, the members of the Consortium vote on how to proceed.”
“So then after years of war, this Consortium finally got off their asses and decided to help the Merrick capture the Casus,” Ian rumbled, taking a sip of the coffee Quinn had placed on the table in front of him, wishing like hell it was a beer. “What changed their minds? And how did they do it?”
“And where exactly did they trap them?” Molly added.
“No one knows for sure,” Quinn answered, his tone dry as he turned down the lights in the kitchen, leaving only the alcove in a warm glow. Slipping into the far seat on Molly’s left, he sat with his back to the bay window. “But it’s believed that toward the end of the Dark Ages, the Consortium decided to take action against the Casus when it became obvious that their rampant, violent attacks against humanity threatened the exposure of the other clans. Despite internal bickering and opposing beliefs, they agreed to construct a prison, or holding ground, for the Casus. Realizing that the future of their bloodlines depended on the imprisonment of their mortal enemy, the Merrick leaders offered themselves up as bait in order to set the trap.
“The Casus, believing they were about to embark upon what would prove their greatest victory and the end of the Merrick, gathered all their clansmen and women together to witness the momentous event, never suspecting what was coming. Once the trap was sprung, the Consortium was able to create some sort of metaphysical gate to hold the Casus inside, but no one knows where. Some believe they were buried deep within a mountain somewhere in Eastern Europe, others in an underground cavern. There are even claims of the holding ground being beneath the sea. But the one certainty that no one could dispute was that the Casus did disappear and their reign of terror came to an end.”
“But how can no one know where or how it happened?” Ian muttered, his tone thick with disbelief.
Scott sighed, locking his arms behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. “You have to remember that these were chaotic, violent times. They weren’t called the Dark Ages for nothing,” he drawled. “The Consortium’s plan was to hold the Casus trapped in this holding ground until weapons could be created that would not only kill their immortal bodies, but their spirits, as well. Once these weapons were fashioned, they’d planned to go back and destroy the Casus once and for all, purging the earth of their existence.”
Lowering his arms again, Scott reached for his coffee. After taking a swallow, he continued in a grim tone. “But dark times fell over the clans. The Casus’s mindless killing had spread paranoia throughout the human world. A group named the Collective was formed, comprised of mankind’s most fearsome warriors, their purpose to hunt those who weren’t human and destroy them. Many of the clans were massacred, including the Consortium itself. Their records were believed lost in the gruesome battles that were waged between the clans and the Collective for centuries afterward, until most of the surviving clans finally disbanded, blending completely into human society. Many even bred with humans, generation after generation, until the primitive blood of their ancestors became so diluted, it was all but forgotten. The Merrick, whose numbers had been severely decimated after so many years of war, were one of those clans who eventually took human mates.”
“And so the Casus were never killed,” Molly murmured, her hands wrapped around her mug, brown eyes shadowed with fear. “They were left trapped in this holding ground?”
“That’s exactly what happened,” Scott rasped, setting his own mug back on the table. “Everyone who knew where it was, how to find it, how to open the gate, how to kill the Casus, was slaughtered. And the answers died with them. Even after the new Consortium was formed, they couldn’t discover the truth. They searched for the records, or archives, that had been collected by the original Consortium for centuries, as did the Collective, believing they would hold answers to these questions, as well as information about all of the ancient clans—but as far as anyone knows, neither group has ever managed to find them. The only thing everyone agrees on is that the Casus never died. It’s believed that though their flesh-and-blood bodies would have eventually decomposed without a proper food source to sustain them, their shades, or spirits, would continue to be trapped within the Consortium’s prison.”
Quinn leaned forward, bracing his crossed arms against the table as he picked up where Scott left off. “But that’s not the end of the story. There was a gypsy legend that was passed through the European tribes, foretelling of a time when the Casus would escape and once again walk the earth.”
“Escape how?” Ian grunted.
Quinn lifted his shoulders. “Again, the details are unclear. But it’s said that the day will come when the Casus, eager for revenge, will figure out a way to send a shade back into this realm, in search of its mortal enemy, the Merrick. And in keeping with the balance of nature’s order, the gypsies believed a Merrick would rise to battle the Casus. Because of this legend, the Watchmen have been responsible for monitoring the most powerful Merrick bloodlines, waiting for the time of the awakenings to begin. There are compounds scattered over every continent, each of them manned by Watchmen who are running surveillance on the Merrick, monitoring their status. We’d hoped the legend would prove untrue, but as you know, the time has finally come. You’re the first.”
“Why me?” Ian questioned in a gritty rasp.
“It makes sense you were awakened first,” Scott explained. “The Buchanan bloodline has always been believed to be one of the strongest. And you’re the eldest son. So we’ve watched you closely, from the moment you were a boy.”
“You’re fu
cking kidding me,” he snorted.
Scott’s mouth twitched at his tone. “Not at all. We followed after you when you left home. Watched you during all those unsavory years in Los Angeles. For a long time we wondered if you wouldn’t simply self-destruct, but then you finally pulled it together and moved closer to your brother. That decision saved your life,” he murmured. “No one could have kept going down the path you were on and survived.”
“But why wait until now?” Molly asked, a hint of frustration in her words. “If you’ve known where Ian was, known what was coming, why not contact him earlier and prepare him?”
Scott sent her a slow, arrogant grin. “And would he have believed us?”
“I don’t know,” she told him, and Ian could tell from the subtle change in her expression that she was upset. “But if you’d tried, it might have saved a woman’s life.”
Scott’s grin bled away, and the rugged line of his jaw locked, one broad shoulder rolling in a hard gesture. He looked as if he wanted to curse, but in a calm voice, he simply said, “Interference is not our way.”
“So you don’t care that an innocent woman died?” Molly demanded, all but bristling with fury.
“I didn’t say that,” Scott countered in a gritty rasp, his mouth grim. “But we’re governed by rules. Specific ones. Ones that we’re already breaking by bringing you here, risking the safety of this compound, as well as reprimands by the Consortium for acting without their approval. And even if we could act, we don’t even know where the Casus is. Quinn could have followed him last night, but he was more interested in making sure Buchanan made it to safety.”
“Rules, huh?” Ian drawled. “Funny, but I never was much for those.”
“We noticed,” sneered a deep, rasping voice from one of the far, shadowed corners of the kitchen. Looking over his shoulder, Ian could just make out the outline of a giant hulk of a man, his golden eyes glittering in the dim light.
Edge of Hunger Page 14