Killer Temptation

by Willis, Marianne

  He’s dead. He could not come back…

  Thump. Thump. Thump. Her gaze followed the echo of boots as someone stepped out of a shadowed corner—

  Oh, gosh! Sudden and uncontrollable shudders shook her body. The wild beat of her heart rang in her ears and perspiration dotted her brow as she took in the man standing across from her. A man in the exact attire worn in her dream, a man more alive than dead.

  Tristan. Not Possible. Perhaps she still remained in the dream. Brianna pinched her wrist, but couldn't wake up. She did it again, harder this time. Blood eased from the two, small half-moon shaped wounds on her wrist.

  He strode forward, closing the distance. "What are you doing to yourself?" He took her hand.

  So transfixed on his eyes, he raised her arm until his lips hovered over her wrist. His tongue slid out and ran along the cut, eyes fluttering closed as he savoured the taste of her blood. The softness of his lips on her bare skin, and the warm wetness of his tongue forced a moan. He felt so good. Shivers ran from her head down to her toes. Her body hummed in blissful delight.

  No! What am I doing? Make him stop! She pursed her lips. Tristan licked her wound, and she was what? Enjoying this? "Get away from me!" She yanked back her wrist, clutching it to her chest. His hooded eyes studied her. The last time she peered into those green irises they had shone with admiration and devotion. Now they held a dark, ominous promise that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand.

  "Don't come any closer," she begged, swallowing hard. Wasn’t it bad enough they stood in this room…alone, she fathomed after her gaze swept their surroundings. The scent of him overtook the burn of candles, the delicious, exotic labdanum and jasmine fragrance. Did all French men smell like this? To her surprise, he did as she asked, taking a step back rather than forward. The scowl on his face, however, confirmed his utter control. If this were a game of poker, she’d lost. She did not hold the winning cards, therefore had no right to give orders.

  "Sit!" His tone boomed the command.

  Whoa! If he kept to his side of the room she’d be fine. She didn’t want to take orders, but wasn’t stupid enough to deny him and suffer the consequences. The wingback chair across from the bed caught her attention and she headed to it. After she heard him out, she could leave, right?

  "On the bed, Brianna."

  She halted at his brutal voice. He might as well hold a gun to her head. “Why the bed?” He couldn’t be serious.

  A jutted jaw and sealed lips confirmed his response.

  I had to ask? So much for not angering him further. He didn’t answer, and she knew better than to wait for one. She padded her way back to the large bed, its red silk sheets an uncomfortable reminder of the night they’d shared. Well, they had sex up against a bookshelf, but the memory of that night was sure as hell still fresh in her mind.

  It shouldn’t be. She must ignore the thought of his touch, his caress, his pulsing erection deep inside her. He killed her sister. He shouldn’t be in her thoughts at all. Nerves raked her entire body as she settled at the edge of the bed, her spine so stiff, she no doubt resembled a mannequin. Entwining her fingers in her lap, she stared at her knuckles and they grew white from the pressure. “I’m in France, aren’t I? In the underground cave you call home?”

  He took the spot beside her and she held her breath. “Yes, you are in Désuet. I brought you here last night.”

  Too close...too fricken close. She could not sit here, like this, with his thighs against hers, his heat invading her already sensitive skin. Brianna stood.

  "Sit. Down!" His shout shook the room. One sturdy arm caught her middle, her head bouncing off a silk pillow when thrown against the downy mattress. He bent over her with lightning speed. One knee pressed into her stomach, the other sank into the mattress beside her hip. She couldn't budge even if she tried.

  "Now, let’s get back to our earlier conversation.” He leaned in so close, his quick breaths danced over her face. “How exactly did you try to kill me?"

  Funny, since she wanted to ask why it hadn't worked. Brianna swallowed.

  Just answer the stupid question and get out of here.

  Instead of telling him how, maybe she should tell him why. Would he even care? She doubted it. Besides, it wouldn’t change anything, or bring Rachel back. He was capricious, and spilling the truth made her situation more dangerous. "Does it even matter how?”

  “Since it involves me, yes. Tell me.”

  Air puffed from her lips. “Fine. I put a spell on the lipstick I wore that night.”

  “Ah, the lipstick. That was one of my theories. But, you’re not a witch, Brianna.” A simple shake of his head affirmed his statement. “Who created the spell?”

  The steeliness in his eyes made her quiver. Why did he want to know? Would he go after Amber if he learned the truth? Perhaps kill her cousin too? Brianna squirmed, as though little insects swarmed beneath her skin. “My turn to ask questions. Why didn’t it work?”

  A smile stretched those peach-hued lips, even though that smile never reached his eyes. “There is only one way to kill a mated vampire. Unfortunately for you, trivial little spells don’t work.”

  “Didn’t seem silly at the time. I saw you on the floor as I left—”

  “I remember,” he cut her off. “As you saw, I suffered. Believe me, did I suffer. The spell did work to some extent, but not to do the job.”

  “Oh, well, better luck next time. Doesn’t change the fact you deserved it!"

  "Deserved?" he ground out.

  So much for treading with care. All her backtalk spiralled out of control. But, instead of his wrath, those dark blonde brows creased with confusion. "When all I wanted was your happiness?" he queried in the softest tone, eyes searching her face for an answer.

  He should have considered her happiness before killing her sister. Although, he probably did not know it was her sister, since she never introduced them that night. Still, what gave him the right to kill anyone? Just how many innocent people had he killed for that matter? Even if she told him, and by some miracle he experienced a sense of remorse, it would not bring back God knows how many others he’d killed. No doubt there were others prior to Rachel, and would be others in the future. "You want to make me happy? Let me out of here. Set me free."

  He shook his head. "You misunderstood. I said wanted, meaning that's not the case now, ma douceur."

  Oh boy, she’d really done a number on herself this time. "What are you on about?" He might want revenge, but to actually kill her? Her, his moitié…or so he said. Amber had said vampires cherish their mates above all else. So, why did the livid look in his eyes frighten and make her question her safety?

  "I'm saying you're not going anywhere. You are my mate and you will stay with me. Whether that makes you happy or not, I don't care." His French accent became more pronounced with his ominous tone.

  “I could never stay with you. I’ll never accept myself as your mate!” Tears pricked her eyes, and she could not swallow past the lump in her throat. He leaned in close. So close, their lips almost touched. His eyes darkened as he peered into her.

  “You will…and soon.” Removing his leg from her stomach, he stormed out the door, slamming it shut.

  A second later a purposeful click rang out. Bastard, he’d locked her in.

  Chapter 6

  No windows. Not a damn one. For the hundredth time, Brianna strode around the room, checking several adjacent doors that only led to a bathroom, a bar room, and an office. The stone interior and ancient furniture imprinted every corner of her mind. Her eyes grew heavy, body weak with fatigue, or, maybe from walking around in circles?

  "Damn this!" She slumped on the bed, defeat weighing heavy on her shoulders. Unable to tell if it was day or night, only certain hours had flown by since Tristan locked her in.

  Will I ever get out? And what about everyone back home? They must be worried, wondering what happened. Perhaps, the family were on top of this, tracking her down with witchcraft. W
as there such a spell? She couldn’t recall any incantation of the sort. Damn, if only she had paid more attention. Inadequate as she felt around them, she tended to butt out of their business.

  A low rattle made her turn toward the exit. The door clicked and swung open. It was Tristan, but her stare passed him and landed on the hallway beyond the threshold. A new setting she hadn’t seen, a glimpse of freedom. Should she barge past and run for her life?

  He shut the door before she could act, denying her chance. In one hand he held a tray covered with a silver dome lid.

  What the hell, Room service?

  "Did you stay up all night?" He sounded surprised.

  So, it was daytime, not that she could tell, since the only glimmer of light shone from the hideous wall sconces. She spun away, folding her arms across her chest.

  "I brought you some food." The harsh tenor of his voice indicated he disliked that her back was to him. The tap of his shoes sounded, drawing closer. The mattress dipped. Maybe he placed the tray down on the bed. A second later his black jacket landed beside her. What was he doing? Undressing? Why? He didn’t think they were going to…

  "I'll be in the shower. I suggest you eat and get some rest."

  Could that be concern in his tone? Brianna rolled her eyes. He abducted her, kept her in this underground hell… Did that sound like someone who cared? Of course not. His footsteps retreated, and she suspected he entered the bathroom when a soft click echoed in her ears. The sound was so simple, yet resembled a choir of angels singing halleluiah. She hadn’t heard him lock the exit door. Brianna swivelled and grinned. A chuckle rumbled in her throat, and she laughed out loud, shaking her head at the unbelievable miracle. Hurrying to the exit, she gripped the handle and swung the door back.

  The grin that stretched her mouth withered. Two vampires stood outside. Both in similar gothic-clothes, arms over their chest and eyes slanted.

  "What fool do you take our brother for?" The tall one with the darker hair said. A shiver ran through her at his glare. Gosh, how he must hate her. Even his fangs grew over his lip, as though ready to growl and attack her like some wild dog. Brianna stepped back and slammed the door in their faces.

  Dammit. Damn Tristan. Damn the vampires and their underground netherworld. She returned to the edge of the bed and slumped with her arms folded. The tight line of her lips and the firm muscles in her jaw made her face ache. Her raging anger only fuelled the irremovable scowl.

  The silver tray atop the bed caught her attention. She lifted the lid. Mash potatoes and steak...or at least meat that looked like beef steak. God knew what they cooked down here. She wrinkled her nose, and put the lid back over the tray. The black jacket lay across the red silk sheets, its quality appearing new compared to its vintage style. Something shiny peeked out from the side pocket. Could that be…

  Reaching inside, she withdrew the small device. A mobile phone. Oh my gosh! She punched in Amber’s number and listened for a ring. A funny tune danced down the line and she frowned.

  Why won’t it work? Oh, crap. How could she forget? She was in France. She needed to use a country code before dialling. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed a shut door with the distant sound of running water. Again she tried the number, this time using the correct digits.

  A brief silence, then an actual calling tone. “Come on, Amber. Pickup. Please, pickup.”

  “Hello,” a voice hesitated on the other line.

  “Amber! The spell didn’t work. Tristan is alive and he’s taken me. I’m in Désuet. France!”

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  “Amber? Can you hear me?” She rushed to different corners of the room, hoping to find a spot that better connected them. “I’m in Désuet. France. Tristan didn’t die!”

  A frustrated sigh sounded down the line. “If this is a prank caller, I’ll be pissed. I didn’t put up those missing posters of my cousin for punks like you to call and make fun of the situation! Now, start talking or I’ll hang up.”

  “Don’t hang up. It’s me. I’m in Des—”

  The phone was snatched from her hand. Brianna sucked in a breath and spun around.

  Tristan held the phone in the air, out of reach. His wide eyes strayed from it, narrowed and fell on her. A shiver rode through her at the dark, foreboding swirl of his irises.

  His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles turned stark white. The phone cracked in his fist. Plastic chunks slipped between his curled fingers and clattered to the floor.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Unable to answer, her tight jaw almost slackened and fell open. A brown towel wrapped around his hips. Broad shoulders and a trim waist dotted with water droplets displayed his male beauty. She hadn’t regarded his lack of clothing when he took the phone, too engrossed by the harshness of his face, and the rage in his eyes. But, now she was conscious of every detail. She tilted her chin, determined to ignore the warm tingle between her thighs.

  “You bastard.” Her voice low and full of odium. Her only chance at freedom was now gone.

  He stalked toward her, and she retreated, stepping back until her legs hit the bed, forcing her to sit.

  “You will never try something like that again. Understand?”

  The familiar scent of him drifted beneath her nose, driving her fury higher, enveloping and overpowering. She stared at her clenched fists, vision blurred. Her thoughts chagrined.

  "You haven't eaten your meal?" he said from across the room. When had he moved? So overwhelmed with powerful emotions she failed to grasp what happened around her.

  "I'm not hungry," she said, tone clipped. She dared a glance at him.

  Damn my treacherous body. According to her cousin, tan was just another word for sexy. Gosh, was Amber wrong! Tristan’s pale skin made the Statue of David jealous. She wanted to run her hands up the expanse of his wide chest, glide her fingers over every rope of muscle on his abdomen. She shook her head.

  What am I thinking? No, I don’t want to do that. Without passing her a glance, he took some clean clothes from the large armoire, stormed into the office room, and shut the door. Minutes later, he stepped out wearing a black shirt and pants.

  He held a dark coat in one hand, and threw the trench over the wingback chair. His gaze once again ran over the untouched tray beside her. "You must eat something."

  She looked away. He didn't deserve an answer.

  In three quick strides he stood over her, bent down with his arms on either side of the bed, trapping her. "Eat," he grated out. "Before I force it down your throat."

  She gave him what she hoped was a levelled stare. "No."

  He straightened, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, then we shall both starve." With an abrupt shake of his head, he snatched the long, black, double-breasted coat from the chair and stormed toward the door.

  What did he mean by them both starving?

  The vampire goons standing guard outside didn’t blink at the harsh expression on Tristan’s face as he barged past and slammed the door shut.

  Brianna sighed. Fire fuelled her blood, ran through her veins and made her face grow hot. The pumped up anger threatened to explode. She bellowed, taking hold of the silver tray and throwing it across the room. Like a drum cymbal it clattered against the wall. Chunks of mash potato plopped to the floor, gravy dribbled down the rough-edged rock, and the steak lay near the silver dome lid.

  Throwing herself on the bed, she hid her face in a plump pillow. Why didn’t he let her go? Could he be so stupid to believe she changed her mind and wanted to stay? If she wanted out of this place, she had to plan an escape. Whatever it took, she’d breakout. That was a promise.

  The door clicked in its frame. She raised her head. How long had she lay there, face down in the pillow? Hours? She didn’t dare turn and confront the livid look of Tristan. No doubt he noticed the mess she made. “I’m not cleaning it,” she grated out, pumped-up anger still thrumming through her system.

  “Oh, you are one t
ough cookie,” a female voice teased.

  Brianna sat up and turned, her rage dimming a fraction. “Cynthia?”

  “You.” The dark-haired beauty strolled toward her. “When Tristan mentioned you, I didn’t think you’d be the same Brianna I’d met.” One shoulder-strap of crumpled organza ran over the front of the dress down to her hips before the full skirt arched out to the floor. The gown, even though beautiful, made her look like a gothic debutante. So different from the sexy red dress she wore at the Annual Armistice Celebration. Cynthia seemed like the type to pull through for a friend in need. After all, at the Armistice Celebration she had helped fix her dress.

  “I need your help. Please, help me escape.”

  Cynthia bit her lower lip, shaking her head. True pity infused her features. “I can’t do that.”

  “Can you at least give me a phone so I can call my cousin?” If only Amber had heard her earlier. Maybe she would put two and two together, but if she couldn’t, then Cynthia was her last hope.

  Cynthia shook her head again and pointed toward the door. “The men who were outside are Tristan’s brothers. After being summoned for the conference with the council, they told me to guard the door. If anything, I should stop you from attempting escape.” Her face twisted with regret. “I like you, Brianna. And I wish I could help you, but I’d lose my head if I did what you ask. I’m so sorry, but here, this is for you.” She held out a brown paper bag and bottled water.

  Brianna frowned at the bag.

  “Tristan says you haven’t eaten. Thought you might be hungry, so I brought you a baguette.”

  Her gaze strayed from the food to the woman. “Where is he?” Stupid question, why should she care?

  “Tristan? He’s also at the council conference with his brothers.”

  Brianna hesitated, taking the paper bag and water. “Thanks.” Hunger made her stomach growl, but refusing to eat angered Tristan. He brought her here against her will and had no intention of letting her leave, so she was more than happy to antagonise him. Since he did not offer the food, resisting was unreasonable. “Where’d you get the sandwich?” she removed the bread roll from the bag, taking a bite. A blend of swiss cheese, smoked ham, tomatoes, lettuce and mayo infused her taste buds.