by Marie Hall
Finally she blinked—several times—then gave a slight shake and glanced at him as if recalling where she was and with whom. She flashed him a weak smile and took a deep breath. “Let’s talk about something else.”
He nodded, but the thoughts were never far from his heart, not only the violence of tonight, but the very real fact that Eve was in mortal danger. Every time he thought on it, it only made him more angry. Anyone else and he would have thought of a solution by now. A way to keep her safe and with him, but he was beginning to suspect that perhaps death could never find true happiness. Maybe that was the crux of the problem: happily ever after was never supposed to be in the cards for someone like him.
She frowned, eyeing him, somehow aware of his inner turmoil. Not right now. He wouldn’t allow himself to spoil these last moments with her. Not like this. So he plastered on a fake grin and said, “Like what?”
Eve stopped walking and turned toward him with an unspoken question in her eyes. She placed her hand against his chest and smiled, really smiled, one of those smiles that come from deep within, a pureness of soul.
He stepped closer, nearly crowding her. Welcoming flutters of heat wrapped around him, pulling him even closer. How could she do that? This woman, with the power of one glance, could bring him to his knees.
She lifted a dark brow, peering deeply into his eyes. “A strange man visited me in the shop a few days ago.”
He tensed, knowing immediately of whom she spoke.
“He said the weirdest thing.”
His fingers twitched. “What was that?”
“It wasn’t so much what he said, but how he said it.” A noticeable shiver traveled down her spine. Their eyes locked as she wet her lips. “He said that life is not a given and to enjoy it, because it won’t last.”
Dagda had been bold. Eve couldn’t know how close to the truth that statement had been. She looked like a fragile doll with her black hair caught up in a ponytail, small strands curling around her face. Her face was free of makeup and had a scrubbed, pink tint to it. The effect made her look so vulnerable, childlike even.
He couldn’t help himself. He touched the crook of her arm and pulled her slightly closer. Now they were breath on breath, body heat to body heat. The air around them charged with the snapping force of their desire.
“And what do you think about that?” he asked. He knew what he thought about it: Dagda should have stayed away from her. Every second around him only brought her deeper into danger, but as much as he wished he could turn off these feelings and walk away from her, he couldn’t. She was his drug, his addiction, and crazy as it was, he needed to be with her. Because no one ever made him feel the way that she did.
“At first”—she licked her lips—“that he was crazy. But there was power to those words, a conviction that stopped me from dismissing him.”
Eve slid her hand up his arm. His body screamed. His nerves strained from resisting the urge to yank her into his arms and crush her to him.
Though he’d had a taste of her, it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t sure he would ever have enough where she was concerned. He wanted this woman with a ferocity that rivaled the queen’s bloodlust.
“Do you want to come home with me tonight?”
His mind running on feelings and not on thought, he said the only thing he could.
“Yes.”
* * *
Cian walked around Eve’s living room. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe something dark and more in keeping with her witchy trait, but the room was primarily shades of white and tan with the greenery of plants adding a splash of color here and there.
She’d excused herself to the bedroom to change; leaving him alone with thoughts that had turned suddenly crippling.
When she was around him, flashing that smile, it was as if all common sense fled. It was so easy to forget that he was something other than death.
That he wasn’t the vampire she thought him to be, a man free to tie his heart to hers and, if it didn’t work out, also leave them able to go their separate ways. No harm, no foul.
Their predicament laid heavy on his mind. And again he came to the only possible conclusion he’d come to the other day while talking to Lise. He knew what she’d said: Don’t do it. Don’t even contemplate it. He couldn’t see how she could deny the idea had merit. Dangerous. Stupid, yes. But it had merit, nonetheless. And with the way time was running out, his options were incredibly limited. What did he have to lose? Nothing. And in return, Eve would have a lifetime to live. That was all he wanted. All he’d ever wanted for her. Happiness.
Eve had given him a gift: the rare peace he’d sought his entire existence. It was his turn to return the favor. Only with Eve had he ever felt a true connection. The fact that he cared whether she was mad, happy, or sad spoke volumes.
Tomorrow all hell would be unleashed. The truth of who he was would have to be revealed. All he wanted to do was forget, have this final night with her. And yet he couldn’t let her find out by accident. As much as the thought galled, he had to be a man and tell her himself.
He rubbed his chest, a bitter taste in his mouth. If he could give her back her old life, her husband—regardless of the numbing pain that thought caused—he would. He’d do it all to see her as happy as he had that very first day.
She walked into the living room wearing a pink tank top, black silk sleeping pants, and a smile. “Sorry I took so long. My sister called. I swear that woman has a sixth sense about me. She knew I had a visitor and wanted to know who, when, and where.” She ticked it off on her fingers.
Goddess, but she took his breath away when she looked at him like that, a sexy beneath-the-lashes glance.
“Aye? And which sister was that?” His voice came out thick and heavy with Irish inflections. It was a sure sign that he was slowly losing his composure.
She bit the side of her lip. “Have I told you how sexy that burr is? I’ve always had a fascination with accents.”
“Did Michael have one?”
He clenched his jaw the second the words left his mouth and the light went out her eyes. There he went again, self-destructing. But it was all he knew. His kind didn’t mingle. They didn’t show emotion and never fell in love. There was no room for that; it couldn’t happen. And he was dangerously close—teetering on the edge of the cliff.
Truth was, for another night in her arms he was tempted to forsake his heart and spend an eternity berserk with grief.
“No. He didn’t,” she said and shook her head. Then she turned toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna make me some chamomile tea. I’ve got a baggie of blood in the fridge. Take it if you’re hungry. I’m not squeamish about that stuff.”
He couldn’t help but smile. She’d been prepared. “I’ve fed. Thanks.”
She grinned and set the kettle to boil. “No problem.”
A conflicting miasma of emotions assaulted him. He wanted to both stay and leave at the same time. He was no fool. Tonight was more than games on the beach or holding her while she slept or even having a taste of her passion. There’d been heat in her eyes, the tension between them demanding they make a decision. Eve was making her move, and he was tempted—more than he’d ever imagined being possible. He needed to stay busy and focus on something other than her.
Shadow boxes filled with a sculpted menagerie of mythic creatures lined the walls, from dragons to unicorns, mermaids to centaurs. He picked up a figurine of a mermaid perching on a rock, prisms of light shooting through its amber-colored skin.
He sensed her behind him before she said anything. It was like every nerve in his body was attuned to her, sparking and crackling when she came near him.
“I’m ridiculously addicted to amber.” Her soft voice was a mere whisper.
He heard the ticktock of a clock, the bubbling steam building in the kettle and the inhalations of her breath. He turned, misjudging how close to him she stood, and knocked into her.
She stumbled back a step and his hand shot out
, grasping her elbow and keeping her steady. She placed her hand against his chest, her lioness gaze holding his.
“Thanks.”
He nodded and set the figurine down on the television stand, never breaking eye contact.
Her hands slipped up his forearm. Fire raced a path across his flesh at her gentle touch.
“Eve.” Her name came out a throaty whisper, full of longing and desire.
She bunched the fabric of his shirt beneath her fingers and drew up on tiptoe. She brushed her nose against his neck, her breath created a warm, tickling sensation. Hot shivers coursed through his veins, turning his blood to molten lava. He hissed and drew her closer, molding her body to his.
“What is it about you?” she whispered into the hollow of his throat and then nipped him. “One taste just isn’t enough. You’re an addiction, a craving I can’t get out of my system.”
His heart thundered. Rolling vibrations traveled through his veins, making him alive and needy for more. He growled low and traced a path down her spine.
She flicked out her tongue, tasting him with just the tip. “Mmmm.”
His hands shifted to her backside, his burgeoning erection heavy between them.
“Ah. Goddess,” she moaned, her head on his shoulder. “It’s been so long.”
Adrenaline spiked through his brain. Eve was giving voice to everything he felt but couldn’t say. He picked her up; his hands gripped her backside and he reversed positions, pushing her against the wall and pinning her in place, his legs planted shoulder length apart. She was at his mercy.
Eve slanted her lips against his, tasting, touching. Then she bit down. Dull pain bloomed at the contact. A wild heat traveled through his blood, bringing out the monster, the whipping lust.
He tore himself away from her. She opened fog-filled eyes, staring at him in confusion. A rumble tore past his lips as the slithering madness crept in. He hadn’t known a woman in centuries, and the loss of that touch made him feral with need.
He trembled, his breathing haggard. She didn’t know the truth. If they did this now, she’d never forgive him. He fought the wild animal inside but couldn’t pull away. Not just yet.
He dipped his head, tasting her throat.
“Cian.” She massaged his scalp. His body flared to life, the nerve endings sensitive and excited. “I love your hair. I want to roll in it,” she moaned.
He scraped the side of her neck with his fangs and inhaled the sweetness of her flesh, closing his eyes in ecstasy.
She pulled the leather thong from his hair. The heavy strands fell free. She gripped tight and pulled him even closer. Pain flared down his skull at her rough grip, heightening his excitement all the more, to see her need so raw and exposed. His stomach clenched and his muscles quivered. Everything inside him was aware of her, of her scent, her taste, her touch.
Their lips were so close breath passed between them. His lungs filled with her scent of mint. If he were a good man he’d stop this. But he wasn’t a man, and he’d never confessed to being good.
With a growl he covered her mouth with his. He licked and nibbled her lips, coaxing her with his tongue to let him in. She opened a fraction, her hum of approval shooting straight through his chest like an arrow.
The world narrowed down to just them. Nothing existed outside of them. He was aware only of the roar of his blood. The rapid beat of his heart, and her soft purrs of approval.
Her tongue darted into his mouth, dueling with his.
His hands roamed her body. Grabbing her breasts and kneading, rolling the nipples between his fingers until she groaned. The leather of his glove yet again came between the touch of flesh on flesh. Frustrated, he snarled, “Tell me what you want, Eve?”
Her hand snaked a path down his chest, over his stomach, and lower still. She was so close to his engorged cock that he could feel the heat of her hand poised above him. He grabbed her wrist. “What do you want?”
“You. Goddess, I want you.” She panted, slamming her mouth down on his again.
He growled with approval, knowing she’d be able to handle the primal and aggressive nature of mating with death. Also knowing she wanted this as fiercely as he did. Grabbing the edge of her shirt, he lifted it up and over her head, throwing it to the ground.
“Take the gloves off,” she whispered against his lips, grinding her hips down harder.
It was like a slap of cold water. A reminder. He clenched his jaw. A shrill, discordant whistle peeled through the room, startling them both and making him jump, almost dropping Eve in the process. Only through sheer will was he able to keep a tenuous hold on her upper arms until she firmly regained her footing.
His muscles strained, every nerve exposed and raw. One touch of her hand over his cock and he’d have spiraled into orgasm. It took him a moment to get back into the here and now. He heaved for breath, trying to regain control.
Her eyes were wide, her lips bee-stung, and her cheeks a crisp pink. Tendrils of hair framed her face, giving her a disheveled, thoroughly ravaged look.
The tension between them was hot, vibrant, and alive.
His arms felt heavy for want of her, his body crying out for release. Her pink tongue slid along the edge of her bottom lip.
“The water,” he said as the piercing wail continued.
“I don’t care.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Kiss me again.”
The plea was not one he could ignore. As he lowered his head the quicksilver recognition of his ilk traveled along his flesh and made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. He gripped her arms, staring out the window that led into the fire escape. The night was thick with darkness, but he knew. He’d sensed death. She still had time, damn it. She still had time.
A loud knock sounded on the door.
He stiffened and she pulled back with narrowed eyes. “Who would be knocking on my door at eleven thirty at night?”
The tingling rush of reaper was gone, but the tight band in his chest didn’t loosen its grip. Something still felt wrong. “Let me answer the door, Eve.”
She nodded mutely. Pulled on her top and patted at the flyaway curls.
He stalked to the door and opened it.
“Oh!” she cried, startled.
A set of brown eyes stared back at him.
“Curtis?” Eve rushed up, grabbing onto the back of Cian’s shirt.
Cian glanced around the low-lit hallway, a sense of unease eating away at him. He had to investigate. Search out Frenzy. It must be him. Death was lurking. In his gut he knew it to be true, even though he could no longer sense the reaper. He knew. He just knew.
“I should go…”
“Oh no, wait. Umm, Curtis…”
It pained him to leave her side, especially now. But he couldn’t stay here while a killer lingered. He had to find Frenzy. He leaned in and planted a whisper soft kiss against her lips. “It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Empty promises.
* * *
And just like that she watched him walk away. Her heart shattered. Why had he left that way? The incessant wail, like a colicky infant, drummed through her ears. She stomped toward the stove, finally shutting the stupid kettle off.
“I’m so sorry,” Curtis said, taking a step in.
She wanted to snarl, to snap at him. Here he was saying he was sorry and yet he’d still walked in, ruining what had promised to be the best night of her life.
Ready to verbally rip him a new one she glanced at him and instantly felt her anger deflate. He looked pale and white around the mouth, unshed tears shining in his eyes.
For the moment Cian’s abrupt departure took a back seat. “Curtis, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t find Samhain anywhere. There’s a storm coming and I’m worried,” he said, voice cracking.
It took everything she had in her not to scream. She was a witch and sensitive to the witch-familiar plight, but it didn’t mean she had to like the fact that Curtis’s knock had sent Cian runnin
g for the hills. What the hell was that all about? She was tired. Sick at heart. Horny. Damn, she was really horny.
She took a deep breath, resigned to another lonely night. “Hold on, let me get my coat.”
Five minutes later Eve commanded her ruby stone to illuminate. It flared to life, immediately lighting the darkened alleyway behind her apartment.
Green Dumpsters and brackish puddles of water filled the air with their own unique aroma.
“I can’t tell you how much this means to me, Eve.” Curtis glanced at her.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”
He frowned. “Yeah.” There was an echoing sadness in his voice. With a slight shake of his head he turned and cupped his mouth. “Samhain, come here.”
“Samhain,” she called, joining in the hunt.
Empty boxes and crates full of rotted foodstuff were the only things she could see. “Samhain, come.” She made kissing noises, trying to drive the cat out if it was indeed hiding somewhere in there.
The slow rumbles of thunder could be heard off in the distance. The rain she’d smelled earlier was fast approaching. She glanced toward the sky. A thin vein of light blue pierced the sky and clouds glowed with lightning. This one was going to be a doozy.
She hugged her jacket tighter, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “C’mere, kitty, kitty.”
Curtis walked deeper into the alley, throwing boxes around and calling out to the cat, desperation in his voice.
A soft meow caught Eve’s attention. She turned around and there, standing on the sidewalk and gingerly licking her paw, was the missing tabby.
“Samhain,” she hissed and marched toward the cat, picking it up under its fat belly. “You gave us a scare.” She scratched the orange cat between its ears. It purred, long and low.
“Oh,” Curtis cried and ran toward her, relief spread across his face.
Eve held out the cat, ready to switch it over to the rightful owner. Curtis grabbed the tabby by the scruff and pulled it into his arms. Samhain hissed, kicking out its paws and flailing around until Mr. Lovelace hugged the fluffy cat to his chest.