When he was done, he refilled their cups and sat across from her, turning his mug between his massive hands.
The air filled with tension stretched tight enough to snap at any second.
“What?” she asked, taking a drink to drown out all her many other questions.
Eric opened his mouth, shut it. Met her gaze, glanced away. Fidgeting with his cup, he finally answered. “I won’t torture the man.” His eyes were downcast, his jaw tense.
“Okay,” she replied slowly.
“I don’t know if he has any information we need. But I won’t do it.” His voice was full of shame as if he was letting her down.
And she suddenly understood something about the haunted darkness she constantly saw in his eyes.
Someone, sometime—recently by the look of it—had hurt him.
Terribly.
Her thoughts whirled. How to answer him without making him feel worse?
When he finally met her gaze, she said softly, honestly, “I don’t go in for torture myself.”
He searched her face as if unbelieving.
“There are many ways to get information from someone that doesn’t involve hurting them. That practice was barbaric when it was considered normal, much more so now.”
He straightened a little. “My brother has always done the job when our king asked. I have disagreed with those tactics my whole life, though I’ve never told them.”
Her heart fluttered as he revealed what was obviously a closely held secret. Toying with her cup, she shared her thoughts, though she prayed she was wrong. “I think the man’s condition was brought on by magic. Torturing him would accomplish nothing, if that’s the case.”
“Magic?” he repeated.
Another clue. Not only had whoever hurt him done so physically, they must have used magic as well. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have noticed her use of fire while fighting the woods. Not that it was magic, at least not exactly. But he was going to hate what she had to say next. “I know someone who can verify if I’m right.”
Sure enough, he stiffened like someone had shoved a hot poker up his ass. “A witch. Only they could see it.”
“Sort of.”
He was already shaking his head. “No. I’ll call the Judge I know. Connor can come out. I was going to ask him here anyway to help deal with the wolf in town.”
She didn’t push. “All right.”
He searched her face, as if again looking for some sign she thought him weak for his reactions.
Chapter Fourteen
Eric couldn’t believe this woman. She hadn’t blinked an eye when he’d mentioned his inability to torture a prisoner. She hadn’t even pried about his resistance to going to see a witch who might have answers to at least part of this mystery.
She didn’t seem to think him the coward that he knew he was. Instead, she flowed with it. Yet, there was a shadow in her eyes that said maybe she understood him... too much.
And he didn’t know why that fact didn’t scare the shit out of him. Instead, it felt kind of... nice. Someone knowing, and accepting such things, even if he couldn’t accept them himself.
His heart thumped loudly, echoing in his head, as she watched him. Her lush mouth drew his attention. She licked her strawberry lips, leaving them dewy, shining with an inviting wetness he wanted to taste again.
He grew instantly hard, aching with need. Jumping to his feet, he threw out, “I’ll go make the call,” then fled. She made him feel too many things he damn well needed to ignore.
He wasn’t here to lust after the woman he was supposed to be protecting. That kind of thing would only interfere with his concentration. With his duty.
In his room, he pulled out his cell phone and called Connor. After a brief conversation, he hung up and stared at the door for a long moment, before he felt in control of his mind and body enough to join her downstairs.
Cat sat in the drawing room. She’d started a fire in the massive fireplace. Flames flickered, casting their soft light over her face. She leaned back in a recliner, legs drawn up beneath her. Her long hair hung down as she combed through it with her fingers.
Her hair was fire, a deep crimson, but like the flames, streaked with lighter shades of reds and golds.
She took his breath away. His body tightened, fists clenched as the urge to pounce on her filled him. Slowly, he took a couple cautious steps. When he was certain he was in control enough not to sweep her up and carry her upstairs to his bed, he strode to the recliner opposite of her.
Sitting, he kept his eyes on the fire, though he still saw her hair in his mind.
“Is your friend coming?” she asked.
“Possibly,” he bit out the reply. “He’s going to try to come, anyway.”
“When?”
He fisted his hands tighter. “A week at the earliest. Connor can’t make it before then.”
“Okay,” she said softly, non-judgmentally.
It made it easier to speak the decision he’d already made upstairs. “We’ll go see your witch.”
He risked a glance her way, and was rewarded by her sun-filled smile.
“Her name is Jezamine. She’s a priestess serving the gods of old.” Cat’s smile dimmed, then returned. “Niki knows the old woman. In fact, it was Jezamine who sent Niki out to Arizona.”
“How?” he croaked, though the fact Niki knew this woman did provide him some comfort, which he figured was why Cat had told him.
“She can speak with the Fates.”
“The Fates?” he said in derision.
Cat straightened. “Don’t dismiss their power.”
He studied her. She truly believed. “My apologies,” he bit out, “to the Fates.”
She nodded. “The old woman won’t see us during the day. I’ll send a message and ask if we can come by tonight.”
He glanced toward the window. Outside, the sky was lightening as the sun prepared to rise. He hated waiting, but there were many times in battle when there was nothing else to do. “Fine. Tonight then.”
Cat spoke hesitantly. “She may only be willing to see me.”
He pinned her with a glare, reading her voice. She was trying to give him an out. “You go nowhere without me, understand? It’s not just wolves after you, nor whoever sent that man in your dungeon. Or did you forget the vamipiric witch who nearly tried to kill you?”
She cast her gaze at her lap, picking at an invisible thread on her pants. “She didn’t try to kill me, just told me to leave my home or she would. Try, that is.”
He rubbed his jaw, assessing her. “We never did get around to discussing what the woman meant about you.”
Cat stiffened, her face paling. Then she faked a yawn. “Oh, that’s a long conversation. I think now is the time for bed.” She stood. “Good night, sleep well.”
Then she was gone. He listened to her light steps head upstairs and to her room. The sound of water running as she started a shower filled his mind with images better left alone. But when he tried to concentrate on the fire, all he could see was Cat, wet and naked, her hair swirling around her body as she welcomed him into her warmth with open arms.
And he knew it was going to be one hell of a long day.
* * *
Cat undressed, then fumbled with the shower handles, turning on the spray full blast. She stepped back, her breath hitching. Now that she was alone, the pain refused to be repressed.
Sliding down the tiled wall to sit on the marbled floor, she wrapped her arms around her knees, laying her head on them as the tears she’d contained burst forth.
Nina.
She’d never again hear the girl’s laugh, watch her smiling eyes as she told another outrageous story. The world blurred, all sounds drowned out by the running water.
How could she have let the girl down like this? Irish still hadn’t woken. And what about Abby? Jacques?
Would she be faced with finding her best friend and her sire dead too?
The tears came faster. She shook, her s
tomach churning, her chest heaving. Ice slid through her blood. “How many more, damn it?”
She’d dealt with pain like this before, she tried to remind herself. She’d gotten through it.
It didn’t help.
With a cry of rage, she slammed her fist onto the floor. Marble cracked. The agony, the guilt and the fear breaking her heart, pushed her on. She hit the floor, again and again, until her hand numbed. Blood dripped from her fingers.
But she couldn’t stop.
The ones behind this had to pay, but she didn’t know how to find them.
Useless.
She raised her fist to slam it against the floor again. Calloused fingers gripped her wrist and she looked up, her vision blurry from tears.
Eric stared at her, his face twisted in a mask of anger and disbelief. “Woman!”
Without raising her head, she shouted, “Leave me be.”
After turning off the shower, he jerked her up, then grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her.
She glanced down, uncaring that she’d forgotten she was naked. “I said leave me alone.”
“No,” he replied shortly as he picked her up in his arms. He headed into her bedroom and glanced around, before moving to the settee in front of the cold, ashy fireplace.
Bitterness coated her mouth and throat. Her heart was ash, the fire burned out. What was left when she couldn’t save the people nearest to her? What use was it being a vampire, with such strength and speed, if one could only fail?
Eric sat on the small couch, holding her tighter to his chest when she began to struggle.
“I said let me go,” she cried, the warmth of his presence melting some of the ice in her veins.
“No,” he simply said. He reached up and trailed one fingertip along her cheek. “You are so alone.”
She struggled harder.
He swatted her ass.
Blinking up at him in astonishment, she saw such sympathy and understanding in his gaze, her heart broke all over again. Sobbing, the tears freely flowing, she buried her face against his chest.
“They’re gone. Dead. I didn’t protect them,” she brokenly cried. “I failed.”
“We can’t protect everyone,” he replied gruffly. “Not even those we love the most.”
“We should be able to. All this power and nothing...”
“I know, elska.” He stroked her hair, rocking slightly.
For a while, he just let her cry the pain out. It seemed forever.
But having him there, holding her, feeling his heat and his strength, slowly helped her gather her wits. Fighting the sorrow, she pushed back her sense of guilt, of defeat, vowing not to stop until those responsible paid.
And she prayed she’d be in time for Abby and Jacques.
Her thoughts spun, jumping from Nina’s death to hope for the rest of her coven. Slowly, wrapped in Eric’s embrace, her body and soul, exhausted, took control. Her eyes fluttered closed and her mind slowed, until she slept.
* * *
Eric felt Cat relax into a deep sleep. It was for the best, the only thing that would lessen her pain was time. Time they didn’t exactly have right now, not if they wanted to solve the mystery of the killer.
He continued to stroke her hair, absently musing on how right she felt in his arms.
And wondered how in all the hells he was going to keep her safe when so many seemed to be after her. The only thing he could think of was to continue keeping her at home as much as possible until Connor arrived. Then, Eric would have the Judge take her to Arizona. She’d be protected there.
He could deal with the threats here while she was gone.
She mumbled in her sleep as tears of sorrow continued to fall.
When she shivered, he realized how cold it was in the room. Gently, he rose and headed for her large bed. Laying her down without waking her took some finesse.
After tugging a blanket over her pale form, he started a fire, then headed for the door. Just as he was about to leave, she cried out in her sleep.
“No!” Then she stunned him by whispering, “Eric.”
He couldn’t leave her alone. Not when she could wake at any moment and start trying to destroy her house, and herself, once more. He headed to her side, his gaze on her hand. It was nearly healed already, but the skin was still tinged pink from blood.
Shaking his head, he went to the other side of the bed and laid beside her. After she woke, if she was thinking clearer, he’d go back to his own room.
As if sensing him near, she rolled over, easing against him. With a sigh, emotions blossoming that he refused to name, he wrapped his arm around her and held her close once more.
Right before he joined her in sleep, it hit him. He’d called her elska... Love.
Chapter Fifteen
Cat drifted in her dreams, surrounded by warmth. Something niggled at the back of her mind, something she knew she needed to think about, but desperately didn’t want to remember.
Her defenses were no use. The image of Nina’s lifeless body flickered in her mind, along with all the others. She jerked up, staring around her bedroom.
Eric lay beside her. At her movements, he jumped out of bed, and reached over his shoulder as if to grab his huge axe.
“It’s all right. I was just having bad dreams,” she whispered, watching the magnificent glory of his power be contained once more.
He watched her warily. “How are you feeling?”
Her breath hitched and she couldn’t answer, just stared at her lap as she picked at the blanket.
“That good, huh?” He sat beside her, gently taking her hand.
It no longer hurt, had already healed. Her stomach ached from hunger at the fuel her body had needlessly wasted. She sighed. Better to do damage to those responsible for the vampire deaths, than harm herself.
“Sorry. I guess I just kind of...”
“Lost it?” he supplied.
“That’s one way to put it.” Her throat burned and her vision grew blurry. She sniffled, telling herself she wouldn’t break down again.
Had to be strong. Needed to prove to Eric she could handle this.
Already, by the look in his eyes, he was ready to again demand she stay home, the safe and protected little woman.
He reached out and stroked her chin. “It will ease.”
“I know.” Her voice cracked and she scooted to his side, leaning against him. He made her feel better, stronger, as if by touching him, it helped her deal with the pain.
He stiffened at her actions, a look of panic flashing over his face. Then, with a resigned sigh, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and let her stay.
Once more, the heat of his body surrounded her, keeping her in a cocooned place where she could escape the pain. And she wanted more.
Now.
She needed him to take her deeper into that place where she didn’t have to think. That place of feeling alive, strong enough to take on anything.
Not sure if he could be seduced, or if he would run, she didn’t consider anything other than the fire rising through her demanding to be fed.
She trailed her hand over his shirt, relishing the feel of his taut, muscled chest, then flicked her thumbnail over one cloth-covered nipple.
He gasped, his arm tightening. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
She glanced up at him. “Living.” Reaching for his neck, she jerked his head down to lick his lips.
He stiffened, his entire body coiled as if to flee. She refused to be deterred. She would use every weapon at hand.
Sliding from his side, she stood in front of him, then let the towel fall to the floor. He gazed at her body, drinking in the sight as if dying of thirst.
He clenched his hands, then forcibly looked up into her face. “This is not going to happen between us. You are my ward.”
“Ward, smord. I am a grown woman who doesn’t need a caretaker.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, but she stepped closer, pushing between his knees a
nd bringing her chest directly in front of his face.
“Hush,” she whispered.
The heat of his gaze caressed her breasts. Her nipples tightened, budding for him.
Eric groaned, his hands clenching tighter, knuckles whitening. Beneath his jeans, his arousal strained, assuring her that regardless of his words of denial, he wanted her.
As badly as she wanted him.
Gently laying her hands on the sides of his face, she tipped his chin up. “Relax. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want.”
Red heat spread up his neck, his cheeks. “Woman—”
She shut him up by kissing him with all the need roiling inside her. He stubbornly pressed his lips tightly closed. Beneath her palms, his jaw tightened.
From anger, frustration or denied desire, she wasn’t certain. But she was not taking no for an answer. He could refuse his needs all he wanted.
Later.
Now was her time.
She straddled his legs, letting her heat rub over the hardness pressing tight against his jeans. Her breasts brushed his chest and he groaned again, deeper, needier.
When he raised his hands to clasp her hips, not to push her away, but to pull her closer, she knew she’d won.
He kissed her, tasting of a hint of blood and spice and male. She drank him in, nipping his tongue, nibbling his lower lip. His fingers dug into her skin and his hips jerked, rubbing against her.
She moaned as lightning thrummed along her nerves.
Eric broke their kiss, his breathing fast and heavy, staring into her eyes. Doubt flashed through them.
“Don’t stop. I need you. Please?” she whispered shakily.
He shook his head, rising. She clenched her legs around his hips as he turned. Then he tossed her on the bed.
She cried out, reaching for him, but the lightning storm in his eyes stopped her.
She stopped breathing when he ripped his shirt off, then reached for the button of his jeans and snapped it open. Each zzz of the zipper sliding down was like a balm to her soul.
And she saw them. Scars covered his body, one on top of another, as if someone had alternately cut and burned him, along his sides and abdomen.
Firestorm: Heart of a Vampire #5 Page 10