“I don’t believe this shit,” he muttered, taking another deep drag, not stopping until the smoke burned his lungs. He needed that sharp burn of pain to center himself, focusing on it in order to keep his rage and frustration from overpowering him. “I didn’t realize you guys were pimps on top of everything else.”
“I brought you here to feed from her,” Scott grunted, his air of calm indifference slipping a notch, allowing his own frustration to bleed through. “You’re so bloody terrified of hurting Molly, but Morgan is one of us. You can take what you need from her without worrying about hurting her, and then go after that bastard and put an end to this thing, once and for all, before any more innocent people lose their lives.”
Despite its weakness, Ian could feel his Merrick rising within him, starved for blood, undeniably tempted by the offer that was being laid at their feet, and yet, painfully aware of what it would mean to go through with it. There was no doubt that Kierland knew just how to twist the knife—knew, just as Ian and the Merrick did, that his options were limited. Either take Molly…and risk the unthinkable, or feed from someone else, and in doing so, cut all ties with her forever. Because once he did, there wasn’t a chance in hell that Molly Stratton would ever want to come within a God-given mile of him again. Not after she’d offered herself to him so freely, and he’d refused, turning his back on her.
“I’m not the one who killed them,” he seethed, needing an outlet for his visceral, animalistic rage, unable to hold it in. Stubbing out what was left of his cigarette in a plastic ashtray, he took an aggressive step toward Scott, who still stood with his back to the door.
“Maybe not,” the Watchman rasped, watching him closely, his brow drawn in a deep V over the pale green of his gaze. “But you haven’t done a helluva lot to save them, either, have you?”
The next thing Ian knew, he was slamming his fist into Scott’s jaw and watching as the man’s head snapped to the side. With lightning reflexes, Scott responded with a powering jab that cracked against Ian’s already bruised ribs, tearing a guttural roar from his chest at the same time Ian connected with a swift uppercut beneath the bastard’s chin.
“Goddamn it! You two need to chill!” Kellan grunted as he entered the fray and tried to pull them apart, while the punches continued to fly, the sound of a fist connecting with cartilage making a thick snapping sound that had the younger Watchman shouting for them both to go to hell. They slammed into the desk, sending the lamp crashing to the floor, then banged into the far wall, knocking down a framed landscape when Scott missed Ian’s face and sent his bloodied knuckles straight through the drywall.
They were too evenly matched in their anger, and in the end, it was Morgan who finally managed to shove her way between them, pushing them apart, her outstretched arms pressed against their heaving chests. Neither man swung, afraid of hitting her by accident, and so she was able to hold them back from one another, while shouting for them to stop acting like a pair of adolescents.
“All right, all right,” Scott panted, backing away until his shoulder blades came up against the wall, his breathing ragged as he hunched forward, bracing his hands on his knees. Looking up through the dark strands of hair falling over his brow, he finally said, “This wasn’t my first choice, Buchanan. Trust me. I’ve tried over and over again to get you to do the right thing this week. I told you today to get your ass up in the house and take Molly to bed. But you refused, said it’s never going to happen, and I accept your decision. I don’t agree with it, but I finally realized you’re never going to change your mind. So that makes this your only option. Take what Morgan’s offering, what she’s willing to give, because if you don’t, you’ll never be strong enough to face him, and that maniacal bastard is just going to keep picking them off, one by one.”
Ian shifted his gaze to Morgan, her gray eyes huge as she stared…studying him. There was no doubt that she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen—but it didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t the one he wanted. “Why?” he muttered, while a cold sweat that felt uncomfortably like panic broke out over his skin. “Why did you come here?”
“I don’t whore myself out for the Watchmen, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told him, her voice soft…but strong. “I’m a soldier, same as these two. I do, however, happen to be a woman, which is what you need. I also happen to understand just how important you are—as well as how important it is that you’re given every possible advantage when dealing with the Casus. That being the case, I wanted you to have the choice.”
Christ. So she was there to sacrifice herself for the cause. Pushing his sore fingers back through his hair, Ian silently cursed under his breath, thinking their good intentions were going to be the fucking death of him.
Morgan was offering him the perfect answer to a shitty situation, and yet, he simply couldn’t take it, for the simple fact that touching her meant losing any chance he could ever have with Molly. And no matter how improbable that future seemed, it was something he wouldn’t—that he couldn’t —throw away.
Clearing his throat, he tried to explain. “Not that you’re…that this isn’t appreciated, but I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time by coming here.”
Instead of arguing, she surprised him with a slight smile. “I won’t say that I’m surprised. After he explained the situation between you and your woman,” she said, jerking her chin toward Kierland, “I told him you wouldn’t go through with it, but the jackass never listens.”
“You agreed to come here,” Scott grated, glaring at her as he shifted position, leaning his shoulders against the wall at his back again.
“But not for you,” she drawled, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. With her slender arms crossed over her chest, she turned toward Scott. “I agreed because there’s a war coming, and I’m willing to do what needs to be done to ensure the right side wins.”
“Trust me, I know just what you’re willing to do. Why else do you think I called you, and not some other woman,” Kierland sneered, his bitter tone surprising Ian, making it obvious that these two had some kind of history.
“Ooh,” she drawled, pitching her voice seductively low. “That was below the belt, Scott. Even for you.”
“Just ignore him.” Kellan sighed, flashing her an apologetic look. “You know he loves to push your buttons, Morgan.”
“He isn’t ever getting anywhere close to my buttons,” she muttered, switching her attention back to Ian, her expression softening. “And for what it’s worth, I think you should have a little more faith in yourself. Your feelings for the human are strong enough to keep you faithful to her, even when you know it could mean your death. I’m not a betting kind of woman, but I’d place everything I own on the fact that you could never hurt her. But no one can give you proof of that until you discover it for yourself. It’s something that you’re just going to have to accept on blind faith.”
Pacing across the room, Ian moved to the window, staring through the blinds at the darkening sky, his attention focused on her words, working them over in his mind. There was something there that jarred his memory, reminding him of the moment on the training field, during his argument with Scott, when a hazy idea had begun to form at the edge of his consciousness.
Scott’s voice came from the far side of the room, interrupting his thoughts. “I know you don’t want to, Buchanan, but it’s time to face what has to be done.”
Ian ground his jaw, while the image in his brain slowly began to crystallize, growing clearer…sharper, various fragments of conversation looping round and round in his mind.
The Marker will come into power when the Casus is near….
Accept on blind faith…
Time to face what has to be done…
When the Casus is near…
Son of a bitch! He’d known there was something significant in the message Shrader had delivered from Molly, but it wasn’t until that instant that it finally hit him, the jolt of understanding jerking a low grunt from his
chest. He had the answer, dammit, and it was the simplest solution of all.
Simple? More like suicide, his conscience snarled.
True, but it was better than doing this day after day, fighting the constant temptation to take Molly, scared out of his mind that he’d end up killing her, with no logical solution in sight. He wasn’t going to feed from her, and he wasn’t going to feed from anyone else. Which meant he could stand around and do nothing or he could finally get off his ass and take some action.
And he finally knew exactly what to do.
Turning around, he pushed his battered hands into his pockets and quietly said, “I’m leaving.”
Scott made a low sound of frustration, his green eyes flashing with impatience. “Running back to Ravenswing isn’t going to solve anything,” he snapped.
Ian pulled back his shoulders, knowing, without a doubt, that the Watchman wasn’t going to like his plan. “I’m not going back to the compound.”
Scott looked at him as if he’d gone crazy. “You’re going home?” he growled. “If you go back to your apartment, she’ll still be in danger. Molly knows where you live, Buchanan. She’ll come after you.”
He shook his head. “You’re right, but that’s not where I’m headed.”
“Then where are you going?” Kellan asked, rasping his palm against his bristled jaw.
Taking a deep breath, Ian said, “I’m going back to the beginning.”
Kellan sent a comical look of confusion toward his brother. “What the hell does that mean?”
But Ian could tell Scott knew exactly what he meant. That pale green gaze drilled into him with piercing intensity, and then the Watchman slowly said, “You’re going back to Elaina’s. Back to South Carolina, aren’t you?”
Ian nodded. “Molly doesn’t know about the house there, so she can’t follow after me. And you told me the other day that this thing is tuned in to me. That it would know I was here, would know if I left, would know where I went. That wherever I go, the Casus will follow me. That’s what I’m counting on. And when it does, I’ll use the Marker to put an end to it.”
To make this work, he needed to get far enough away that Molly couldn’t get to him—needed to draw this thing onto his own ground, and face it there. Though they’d talked about his childhood, he’d never told her where he’d grown up. And he knew from their conversations that Elaina hadn’t talked to her about his upbringing, much less about where they’d lived, which meant that she didn’t know about the house. Riley had said that Saige was planning on using it, but thanks to the Watchmen, he knew that she was still down in South America. Which meant that his childhood home was empty…just sitting there, waiting. So he’d go back to the place where he’d first heard the stories of the Merrick and the Casus, and wait for this thing to come to him.
Something in Ian’s gut told him that it wouldn’t take long.
And maybe…just maybe, the Marker he carried in his pocket would be enough to save his ass, even without the strength of his Merrick.
Scott ground his jaw, forcing his words through his clenched teeth. “Even if you can get the cross to work, you’ll be easy for him to kill in human form, and you won’t be able to change because you still haven’t fed. You may kill it, Buchanan, but he’ll end up taking you with him.”
“If you don’t hear from me in a few days, then you’ll know that’s what happened,” he rasped. “And no matter what, keep an eye on my brother. Don’t leave him hanging out in the wind. He’s a tough son of a bitch, but if more of these things are on the way, then he’s going to need your help.”
With that said, Ian turned to head for the door, until Scott’s next words brought him to a stop. “And what are you going to tell Molly?” the Watchman asked.
Hunching his shoulders, Ian shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “I can’t get near her right now. I’m not going to tell her anything.”
And she’s going to hate you for that.
Most likely, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He couldn’t think about her at all, or he was going to go out of his mind.
“Then what am I supposed to tell her?” Scott growled.
Working his jaw, he said, “Tell her I said to go home.”
“That’s it?” the Watchman scoffed, shaking his head.
Ian could think of about a million other things he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t. “Tell her I said that she did what she came here to do, and now it’s time to get on with her life.”
Trite, he knew, but what else was he going to say?
As if sensing his determination, Scott cursed something foul under his breath, then quietly said, “You better hope you know what you’re doing, Merrick. If not, you’re going to find yourself in hell.”
“Then I’ll be right at home,” Ian drawled, and with a hard smile, he turned, opened the door and walked out into the falling night.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Thursday Night
WITH A COLDPLAY SONG playing softly on her radio, Aubrey Rodgers made her way home down the narrow stretch of highway, her headlights cutting two stark beams through the inky darkness. She sang softly under her breath, one hand thumping against the wheel of her Honda in perfect rhythm with the music, her mind miles away, stuck on the man she’d run into earlier that evening on her way into Nate’s. When she’d first spotted Ian Buchanan in the parking lot of the local hangout, she’d been so sure he was on the prowl. He’d had that predatory look in his dark blue eyes—the one she’d learned to recognize and had come to love during the two months they’d dated last year. Two months that had left her wilted with pleasure—her body sore from his ravenous sexual appetite, but more alive than she’d ever felt in her entire life.
Aubrey hadn’t been surprised to see him at the bar tonight. If anyone had a reason to drink, it was Ian. She’d heard about what had happened to Kendra Wilcox, and she’d been more than ready to console him, even knowing he wouldn’t want her for more than the time it’d take him to work out his tension and grief.
He’d sent her a tight smile when she’d approached him, her uncomfortable heels clicking against the gritty asphalt, hoping she wasn’t about to make a fool out of herself—and that’s when the second man had climbed out of Ian’s truck. Aubrey had faltered for a moment, knowing Ian wasn’t one to socialize. When he went to a bar, he went alone, though he rarely left that way. The stranger had been more than easy on the eyes, though no friendlier than Ian, as if she was interrupting something important. He’d walked away a few steps, making a call on his cell phone, affording her and Ian some privacy, and though they’d chatted for a moment, the conversation had been awkward and flat. It’d been painfully obvious he wasn’t interested in any solace she had to offer, and she’d wanted to kick him in the shins for being such a jerk, but had stifled the impulse. Instead, she’d tried to play it cool when he’d told her they had to meet up with some friends. She’d said goodbye, walked into the bar, and then watched through one of the tinted front windows as he and the auburn-haired man had headed next door, toward the motel.
Bastard. She could imagine just what kind of “friends” they’d met up with.
“Arrogant jerk,” she muttered under her breath, hating that he still held the power to make her weak in the knees. When their brief affair had ended, she’d decided, over a bottle of shared tequila with a group of girlfriends, that men like Ian Buchanan were the sexual equivalent of chocolate. Even when you knew they were bad for you, when faced with the temptation, you couldn’t help but crave them.
Following a long bend in the road, Aubrey had just reached down to crank the music louder, when a man stepped into the middle of her lane, only a handful of meters in front of her car. Screaming, she jerked the wheel in reaction, sending the car onto two wheels as it careered off the side of the road. The front end hit the shallow ditch that lined the highway, sending the car tumbling end over end, before it slammed to a jarring stop against the heavy trunk of a tree.
Hangin
g upside down, pinned by her seat belt, Aubrey slowly opened her eyes, aware of a pain unlike anything she’d ever known filling her up inside, pulsing from one end of her body to the other. She wanted to scream, but there was too much blood in her mouth, dripping down her face, into her eyes, staining her vision with crimson strips of terror. The engine was still running, the stringent smell of gasoline filling the mountain air. She knew she had to get out of the car before it burst into flames, but she couldn’t move.
Do it! she silently screamed. Move your goddamn arms! But they remained limp…useless…broken, the messages lost somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind. She’d have feared she was paralyzed, if it wasn’t for the excruciating pain seizing her in a pulsing clutch of agony.
And then she saw something crouch down onto the ground, just beyond the shattered driver’s side window. Blinking from the blood dripping into her eyes, Aubrey stared into the palest gaze she’d ever seen. Angel’s eyes. Perfect and beautiful and blue.
“Help me,” she whimpered, giving a silent prayer of thanks that she’d been saved. “It h-hurts.”
“Not for long,” purred the gorgeous blond, reaching his hand toward her, a slow, tender smile melting across his sensual mouth, just seconds before his hands transformed into terrifying, deadly claws. They ripped through the seat belt, the expensive silk of her new dress, before slicing effortlessly through her right breast. The scream that had been buried inside of her forced its way out, painful and scraping against her throat, pouring out of her mouth as she felt him grab hold of her hair.
In the next moment, Aubrey Rodgers was pulled from her car, into the fertile heat of the night, and delivered into hell.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Laurente, South Carolina, Saturday Morning
Edge of Hunger Page 21