“Go on,” Scott murmured, jerking his chin forward.
“What do you want to hear?” he snapped. “We had sex, I bit her, drank her blood and damn near couldn’t stop myself the second time it happened. I’m not about to risk it again. I won’t be the thing responsible for her death.”
Scott stared at him for a moment, studying his face…his eyes, then quietly said, “You’re going to have to trust me when I tell you that won’t happen. I may not be Merrick, but we deal with our own hungers. Believe me, I know how destructive the craving can be, but…you will be able to control it.”
Right. He’d never been able to control anything in his entire life, which was why he’d become so damn good at running. He wasn’t about to believe he could do it now, when something as important as Molly’s life was on the line. “Have you ever heard of anything like that happening before? Two people sharing dreams like that?”
Deep in thought, the Watchman slowly shook his head. “No,” he finally admitted, sounding defeated. “Never.”
Ian’s impatience flared with blistering force, hot beneath his skin. “Then what does it mean?”
“Who knows? It could be her powers. She obviously has some psychic ability, to be able to listen to the dead the way she does. Then again, it could be something that comes from you. Your mother had…special gifts. Hints of precognition, it was believed. What many refer to as ‘the sight.’ Or it could be a combination of the two. Hell, it could even be linked to the Merrick awakening inside of you. Until more of the awakenings begin, there’s no way to say for sure.”
“Great,” he muttered, lifting his arm to rub at the corded tension gathering at the base of his neck. “You’re a lot of help.”
“I’m trying to be,” Scott grunted, “if you’d just listen to me. I know it’s difficult to take something like this on faith, but I’m telling you the truth. You’re not going to hurt her. The smartest thing you could do is to go to Molly right now, grovel at her feet for treating her so badly all week, and then take her to bed and feed from her before it’s too late.”
“Thanks for the advice,” he sneered, “but I’ll do it when I’m damn good and ready.”
“Yeah, well, you let me know how that dumbass plan is working out for you,” the Watchman drawled, the harsh words cut with a quiet, seething rage. “And in the meantime, just pretend there aren’t consequences to your actions. The longer you wait, the more innocent people will pay with their lives because of your stubbornness.”
“What are you talking about?”
Scott crossed his arms over his broad chest, his tone grim as he explained. “I came out here to find you for a reason. Kellan called me a little while ago. Your brother’s got another murder on his hands. A teenager was reported missing by her father a couple of days ago. They’d thought she might be a runaway, but this morning some hikers found her remains in a canyon, about ten miles from Henning. The story is only just now breaking on the news, and the authorities are calling it another possible animal attack. But Kellan said it looks like a Casus kill.”
Ian could feel the color drain from his face, while gruesome images from the scene of Kendra’s murder kept playing through his mind. “Why would he go after a kid?” he croaked. “I don’t even know any teenage girls, and no way in hell would I ever get involved with one.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that this thing needs to feed. Just because you and Molly have been hiding out here, where it can’t get to you, doesn’t mean it’s going to just sit back and wait for you to make an appearance. It’s probably been using animals for the most part, but it needs human flesh to keep it sustained, to build its strength, the same way you need blood. If it can’t get its hands on someone who’s connected to you, it’ll take what it can get.”
Ian started to pace away, but Scott grabbed hold of his tensed bicep, pulling him back around. “Don’t you get it, Buchanan? You’re trying to control a situation that can’t be controlled, and it’s all going to blow up in your face. It’s time to deal with it, before your entire life ends up getting fucked.”
“Open your eyes!” he shouted, suddenly shoving at the bastard’s shoulders, wanting a fight…needing it. “It’s already happened. And you’re all sitting around here like a bunch of jackasses, doing nothing!”
It was obvious Scott wanted to shove him back, but he fought it down, his hands fisted at his sides as he growled, “We have our job to do, and you have yours, Merrick. Don’t think these killings aren’t going to draw the notice of the Collective. When it does, when they come here, we’re going to have our goddamn hands full dealing with them.”
Ian started to scrape out a scathing response, when he caught Shrader’s scent drawing near again. Turning, he watched the man make his way toward them, minus Molly and Quinn. Shrader wore a bleak expression, and Ian knew more bad news was on its way.
When the Watchman reached them, he met Ian’s hard gaze and muttered, “Molly sent me with a message. She napped for a few hours after lunch, and heard from your mother again. That’s what she came out here to tell you.”
“And?” he rasped, wondering what the hell Elaina had told her.
“Molly said it was difficult to understand. She doesn’t know if Elaina’s connection is weakening, but she could only make out part of the message. Something about the Marker coming into power when the Casus is near.”
Scott moved to Ian’s side. “If that’s true, then it would explain why you haven’t been able to get the cross to work.”
Ian nodded his agreement, while staring at a dusty patch of ground, a hazy idea flickering at the edges of his mind, slowly taking shape like an image materializing out of mist.
“There’s more,” Shrader muttered, the gruff words cut with a brutal, foreboding edge.
“What is it?” Scott asked.
“Kellan just called in on the secure line again,” the Watchman explained. “A woman has been reported missing in Henning. A young art student. She went out in the woods this morning to take some photographs, and was supposed to be back for her shift at one of the local markets by noon, but no one’s heard from her. After the breaking news about the teenager, the whole town’s suddenly in a panic, believing this art student is the third victim.”
The idea that’d begun brewing in Ian’s brain suddenly vanished, replaced by a sickening wave of horror that swept through his system, obliterating everything in its path. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. All he could do was stand there, his muscles coiling and flexing as the summer sun beat down on his face. A vile, blistering wave of rage roiled up from the soles of his feet as he thought of the women who’d lost their lives, and all because of him. Because of this thing inside of him.
Shrader shoved his hands in his pockets, then slanted a shuttered look in Scott’s direction. “Kellan also said that the meeting’s set. Whenever you’re ready to head into town, all we have to do is give him a call.”
Scott appeared no less happy with this second bit of news, his mouth compressed in a hard, flat line, the unforgiving sunlight accentuating the shadows beneath his eyes, as well as the deep grooves bracketing his mouth.
“Is it a go?” Shrader asked, at the same time Ian grunted, “What meeting?” His eyes cut back and forth between the two men, not liking the strange feeling creeping up the back of his neck, like a cold hand against his skin, holding him in place, warning him that whatever they were hiding, he wasn’t going to like it.
Scott stared at him for a moment, his dark gaze shadowed with anger and frustration and some indefinable emotion, and then he finally shifted his attention back to Shrader. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low…graveled. “We’re getting nowhere here. I didn’t want it to come to this, but I don’t think we have any other choice. Call Kellan back and tell him we’re heading in now.”
“For the last goddamn time, what meeting?” Ian ground out through his clenched teeth, hating the way they kept talking around him, making it obvious that he was being left in the
dark on purpose.
“I’ll explain when we get there,” Scott called out, already walking away. “Grab a shower and be ready to go in fifteen.”
Ian stood his ground, determined not to move until they told him what the hell was going on. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about.”
Looking back over his shoulder, Scott squinted against the bright glare of sunshine. “I’ve called in someone who can help us.”
“Someone? What kind of someone?” he pressed, ruefully aware that this was freaking the shit out of him. “If they aren’t an enemy, then why aren’t they coming up here?”
“Because it would be a really bad idea,” Shrader snorted, before casting a questioning look toward Scott.
Ian took a deep breath, struggling to keep it together, the fiery burn of the sun against his bare shoulders the perfect complement to the anger smoldering through his veins. “Why?”
Walking back toward him, Scott didn’t stop until he was right in his face, nose to nose with him. “I know you’re not going to like it, Buchanan. I know you’d like nothing better than to tell us all where to go, but you’re just going to have to trust me.”
“Not in this lifetime,” he snarled, his mouth twisting in a snide smile.
The seconds stretched out slowly as Scott stared him down, both of them refusing to budge…to back off, until the Watchman took a step back, his chest rising and falling with a series of hard, deep breaths. When he finally spoke, he didn’t make any threats—didn’t offer any explanations. Instead, he played the one card that he knew Ian didn’t have a chance in hell of resisting, and quietly said, “If you want her to live, then do it for Molly. Because this just might be your last chance to save her.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WHILE QUINN AND SHRADER stayed behind with Molly at Ravenswing, Ian drove his truck down to Henning along with Scott, who insisted on riding with him. He hadn’t wasted any more of his breath pressing the Watchman for answers he knew he wasn’t going to get, and Scott hadn’t offered him any information, simply telling him where the meeting was set to take place. While the Watchman leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, Ian spent the drive working things over in his mind, searching for a solution…for some kind of way to put an end to it all without sinking his fangs into someone’s throat. He knew he needed to do something, dammit…but what? What was the answer? He felt as if it was hovering right in front of him, taunting him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t grab hold of it.
Despite the winding mountain roads, they made good time down from Ravenswing, the sun still hanging in the sky like a smoldering ball of flame beyond the lavender twilight when they pulled into the parking lot shared by Nate’s, a local Henning hangout, and the Mountain Inn Motel. There were a few uneasy moments when he climbed out of the truck and found Aubrey Rodgers, a woman he’d briefly dated the previous year, heading toward him with a bright, flirtatious smile painted on her cherry-red mouth. Knowing that every second she spent in his company put her life in danger, Ian did his best to get rid of her quickly. He was a marked man, like the kiss of death, and though he could tell she was hurt by his curt dismissal, it was better than taking the chance she’d be seen with him.
Thankfully, there’d been no one else in the parking lot to witness their brief discussion, but as he followed a brooding Scott over the sun-warmed asphalt, toward the motel, and up the painted metal staircase that led to the second-story rooms, Ian couldn’t help but worry over the shitty luck that had put Aubrey in his path. She didn’t even live in Henning, so what were the odds? He hadn’t seen her in months, and then Bam! There she was. His wary gaze scanned the thick ridge of forest that began on the far side of the motel, and he wondered if the Casus could be out there. Ian hoped like hell he was just being paranoid, but he couldn’t quell the uneasy feeling in his gut that told him Aubrey Rodgers had just been screwed by the fickle finger of fate.
You’re overreacting, man. No one saw her. No one’s watching.
They reached the railed landing and Scott turned right, heading down the smooth concrete walkway, then turned left at the corner. Stopping in front of the second doorway, he raised his fist to give the dark green door a hard knock. Ian stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, wondering what they were heading into as he cast an uneasy look over his shoulder, toward the forest again, unable to shake the eerie feeling they were being watched. At the sound of the lock turning, he swung his head back around in time to see the door being opened by a darker, slightly younger version of the man at his side. The guy had thick, dark red hair that looked almost black, his eyes an unusual blend of blue and green, and Ian knew he must be Kierland’s brother, Kellan. The resemblance between the two men was unmistakable, and while Kierland might have had an inch on him in height, Kellan was brawnier than his brother, with a build that could have belonged on a professional football player.
With his odd-colored eyes flashing with curiosity, the younger Watchman stepped aside to allow them in, then shut and locked the door as he said, “Morgan’ll be out in a minute.” He turned and held out his hand toward Ian, his grip firm as they shook, and with the same trace of a British accent as his sibling, he jerked his head toward Scott, drawling, “I’m this asshole’s younger brother, but don’t hold it against me. Name’s Kellan.”
Before Ian could respond, Scott asked, “Any problems getting here?”
Kellan turned his attention to his brother and shook his head. “None so far. Everything’s been quiet.”
Ian moved away from them, glancing around for clues that might reveal what was going on, but the room looked untouched, the only luggage he could see a battered backpack propped beside the far wall, next to the closed bathroom door. He could hear the sound of running water coming from within, revealing the presence of the third person—the individual named Morgan that Kellan had mentioned—and could only assume that was who they’d come to meet with.
Moody shadows dwelt like a gothic presence within the confined space, the only furniture a queen-size bed, dresser and matching nightstands, along with a desk and chair. Though there were two lamps, they remained off, the only source of light coming from the fading spill of twilight that made its way in through the slanted blinds, revealing a breathtaking view of the thick forest that stretched its way up the side of the mountain.
Reaching for the pack of cigarettes he’d stuffed in the pocket of his T-shirt, Ian slanted a wary look toward Scott, who had taken up position against the closed door, as though to block the only escape route. Did they expect him to run, then? And if so, why?
Digging in the front pocket of his jeans for his lighter, he said, “Don’t you think it’s time you told me what’s going on here?”
Before the Watchmen could answer, the bathroom door opened, and a woman appeared. She paused in the doorway when their gazes caught, one arm lifted, pressing a white hand towel to her cheek, her skin dewy, as if she’d just washed it. Ian drew in a deep breath and knew, instantly, that she wasn’t human. She smelled similar to the Watchmen…only softer, sweeter. Tall and slender, with shadowy gray eyes and a heart-shaped face that looked as if it’d been carved from fine porcelain, she was undeniably beautiful. Though she had a killer figure, she wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, hardly dressed for seduction—and yet, all it took was one look at her and Ian knew precisely what was going down.
Driven by a swift, staggering rise of fury, his unlit cigarette fell from his fingers, forgotten, and he lunged for Scott, catching him by the front of his shirt. Twisting his fist in the soft cotton, Ian lifted the Watchman off the ground, then slammed him into the door with a hard, resounding crack. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled.
Scott’s green eyes stared back at him with unblinking intensity, his expression strangely blank, as though a veil had been pulled over his face, removing any trace of emotion. “Be as angry with me as you like, Buchanan, but you’ve left us no choice. You won’t feed from Molly, and the body count is
climbing.”
“I won’t do it.” The dark, graveled words were torn from his throat with no conscious direction from his brain, born completely from instinct—from a part of him that he refused to look at too closely. He didn’t want to think about why he couldn’t go through with their plan. God only knew the woman was beautiful, and apparently willing, but it didn’t matter.
Forcing himself to take a deep, shuddering breath, Ian clawed onto his rage with what was left of his control and released his hold on Scott. He stepped away, and stared round the room, gauging the other two, trying to get a read on their emotions, while doing his best to conceal his own. While Kierland struggled to hide his simmering anger beneath a mask of indifference, his brother simply appeared intrigued, as if he were watching some fascinating drama playing out for his entertainment. Even Kellan’s stance was casual, his broad shoulders propped against the wall at his back, muscled arms crossed over a faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt. But it was the woman, Morgan, who was the easiest to read, her obvious relief evident in the softening of her expression, as if she’d just been granted a reprieve.
“This is your last chance to do what’s right,” Scott said in a low voice, breaking the breath-filled silence. “Unless you want the blood of more innocent women on your hands.”
“I know it’ll be hard for a self-righteous prick like you,” Ian sneered, “but do me a favor and lay off the fucking lectures.”
“Open your eyes, Merrick. I am trying to do you a favor.”
Kellan whistled softly under his breath, his eyes wide as he looked back and forth between them, while the woman simply remained in the doorway, listening intently to the argument.
“All I’m asking is that you be sensible and think about what you’re being offered here, before you let your temper get the better of you,” Scott added, his tone setting Ian’s teeth on edge. “Morgan traveled a helluva long way to come here, and you owe her that much.”
Pulling out another cigarette, Ian quickly lit the tip with his lighter and took a sharp, hard drag, doing his best to ignore the way his goddamn hand shook.
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