Primal Hunger: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 1

by Sydney Somers

  “The sun.”

  Ooookay. “And?”

  “It’s the first time I’ve felt it on my face in centuries.”

  Chapter Six

  Tristan watched her brows draw together, unprepared for how much such a simple gesture could awaken the cat that wanted to spend hours curled around her, feeling her touch.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  Letting out a breath, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Her wary expression and straight spine weren’t exactly inviting a brush of his fingers across her cheek, let alone a long, slow kiss. Burying his hands in his pockets was the only way he could think of to avoid stroking her plump bottom lip.

  Another breath. “I haven’t seen the sun since the fifth century.”

  “And by century you mean…”

  He inwardly braced himself. “Hundred year spans.”

  She glanced at her hand and his stomach turned over at the reminder of her death sentence. “I don’t suppose you’re just off your meds?”

  Leave it to Kennedy to try brushing it off as a joke. He shook his head.

  She sank to the ground so quickly he could only flinch when she landed on her butt.

  He crouched next to her, mesmerized by the way the sunlight glinted off her hair. He touched the ends of the blond strands shot through with shades of bronze and gold. How had he never noticed that about her hair before?

  Tristan tipped her face up so it was not lost in shadows. He’d lived in the dark long enough. For months he could have felt the sun warm his back as it did now, and if he’d listened to the cat, to the instincts that drew him to Kennedy from the start, he would have been able to.

  Her eyes slid shut. “I want to be dreaming.”

  “And last night?” He studied her brows, her lashes, her lips.

  She looked away from him. “Are you talking about the pre-feline part of the evening or after that?”

  He smiled. “You’re not still scared of him, are you?”

  “Right about now there isn’t much I’m not scared of.”

  “But not me?” He’d been rougher with her than he’d wanted in bed, unable to completely control the cat’s need to dominate.

  “You? No. But the things you make me feel scare me to death.”

  He cupped her face, trying not to hope she felt half as much of a bond as he did. “What things?”

  “Things I’m having a hard time controlling.”

  Having no idea what humans experienced when bonding to immortal mates, he struggled to find the right words to say. “Maybe you need to loosen the reins then.”

  She eased away from him. “You can’t keep doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Making me want to kiss you.”

  He grinned. “I’m not making you do anything.”

  She snorted. “You’re supposedly fifteen centuries old. I’m pretty sure that must come with a few perks.”

  “Like coercing you into getting naked?” If he didn’t catch the heat that flared in her eyes he might have been offended.

  She shoved to her feet. “I don’t know.” He trailed after her, but she spun around to face him. “Stay there.”

  “Aren’t you worried I can hocus-pocus you into stripping from a distance?”

  “You find this funny?” She sounded even less impressed than she looked.

  “Just the part where you think I can snap my fingers and have you naked and in my bed. Though it would be a neat trick.” And gave him all sorts of images in his head.

  She gave him a doubtful look.

  “Trust me, if I could do that we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

  “What are you?”

  “Besides turned on?”

  She scowled at him.

  “You need answers and I need to be close to you, so let’s go inside.”

  “Bed is a bad idea.”

  He noticed she didn’t say no. “I was thinking more along the lines of breakfast, but I’m fine with returning to my room.”

  “Breakfast is good,” she said hastily, preceding him inside.

  Tristan took his time, watching her first-class ass until she grabbed a stool. She’d no sooner plunked down before pushing back to her feet and pacing nervously. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter closest to her.

  She shot him a wary look, but continued to eat up the stretch of floor between him and the island in the middle. Every few steps she turned and changed direction, and each time he caught her scent, his gut tightened.

  Finally, she stopped directly in front of him. It only took her a moment to realize her mistake. He didn’t give her a second to retreat, backing her up against the island. Planting a hand on either side of her, he leaned in. Her hair tickled his cheek as he ran his jaw along hers, then down her neck.

  “Back off.”

  Quiet but undoubtedly sincere, and just a little bit dangerous, the order succeeded in getting his attention. There was no way he could keep his hands off her, but he wouldn’t be able to talk to her if he didn’t distract himself with something else.

  He turned away long enough to gather a few things from the pantry and fridge.

  “You’re cooking?”

  “It keeps my hands busy.” He nodded to the stool directly beside the island. If he couldn’t touch her, standing close to her would have to do. For now. “Ask your questions.”

  “How can you be so old?”

  Of course she’d start with a hard one. Hard for her to hear the answer to. “I’m immortal.”

  She stared at him.

  “I can’t die,” he began.

  “I know what immortal means.” Her gaze moved over him top to bottom, and hopefully missing how aroused he was. “You can’t be human.”

  He grabbed her hand, held it over his heart. “I am right now.”

  “And the rest of the time?”

  Gods, when had just talking ever turned him on so much? Paying attention to her very valid questions couldn’t have been harder when the urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him.

  Forced to give in or release her hand, he went with the latter.

  “How is it even possible?” Kennedy continued. “How can you be so old and have never felt the sun? I guess I can cross vampire off my list.” She paused, and her eyes narrowed as she recalled what he’d done. “You bit me.”

  “I got a little carried away.” Uncomfortable with his guilt over that, he cracked a few eggs so he didn’t have to look at her.

  “Is that some kind of immortal fetish?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She pushed her hands through her hair. “Okay. Let’s start with last night.” She held up her hand. “How did I get this?”

  “You’ve been marked by a wraith.” At her arched brow he added, “They’d be the ones closer to vampires.”

  “Is that what came after me in the bathroom too?”

  The cat prowled in the back of his mind, disliking mention of the wraith. “Yeah.”

  “It wants me dead right?” She didn’t wait for him to acknowledge that. “Why?”

  “Because I have something it wants.” He hadn’t expected many to learn he had the dagger so soon, let alone have time to make arrangements to take it from him. He must not have been the only one to learn the sorceress possessed a dagger, simply the first one to reach it.

  “So why didn’t it mark you then?”

  “Going after you was more effective.”

  Her frown matched his earlier confusion. “I don’t understand. We’ve barely spoken.”

  “The wraith originally planned on making a deal with Cale.”

  “None of this is making sense. Cale is just my boss.” She stopped. “He’s immortal too, isn’t he?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “So what did you take?” The accusation in her tone rubbed him the wrong way.

  “I’m not a thief.” Not exactly anyway. “It’s a mystical dagger.”

  “Mystical. Of
course it couldn’t be something simple, like priceless.”

  “It’s that too.” And judging by the look on her face, hearing that hadn’t helped.

  “So it does something?”

  He set the bowl of eggs aside. “It’s part of a set. Once united the daggers will lead to a sword.”

  “Someone wants me dead over a sword? Gee, whatever happened to the good old-fashioned greed, passion or revenge motives?”

  “They’re after Excalibur.”

  She laughed. “As in Knights of the Round Table and King Arthur? That Excalibur?”

  “That would be the one.”

  —

  Kennedy’s laughter faded, and she searched his face for a sign he was conning her. The sincere expression on his face didn’t reassure her at all. Either he was telling the truth, or he’d convinced himself he was. Neither possibility seemed all that favorable.

  “You’re looking for Excalibur? And when you find it?” Maybe if she could figure out why they wanted the sword, she’d know how to get herself out of this mess. Although mess didn’t seem to come close to describing the last ten hours.

  “We’ll guard it.”

  “Until?”

  Tristan hesitated. “Until Arthur reawakens to claim it.”

  “The King Arthur. So you’re what, friends with the guy?” Wasn’t the brain built to shut done when there was too much information to process? And if discovering that immortals, wraiths and mythical monarchies actually existed wasn’t too much to handle, she’d dance topless on the bar during her next shift.

  Assuming she lived that long.

  He held out his hand. “Come.”

  She reluctantly placed her hands in his. Last night he’d pulled her through the halls so quickly there hadn’t been time to notice much of her surroundings. Now she simply had too much going on in her head to register anything but a blur of polished tile floors and painting-covered walls.

  At least until they passed through a series of rooms and reached a large heavy wooden door that looked like something out of a Brothers Grimm fairytale. Half expecting to find a stone staircase descending into a dungeon on the other side, she glanced around the empty room, empty but for the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the far wall.

  She took her time following him to the mirror. There was nothing in the room to give off a heavy vibe, but the sense of something in the room with them slowed her steps. Both her hand and lower back tingled the closer she drew to the mirror.

  “If this is something—”

  Tristan cut her off, speaking in a language she didn’t recognize.

  “—kinky…” she finished, watching the mirror’s surface shimmer, their reflection awash in a silvery rainbow that faded, leaving an image of a sundrenched meadow. “That can’t be real.”

  He took her head and when she realized what he meant to do, she resisted.

  “Trust me,” he pleaded, those fathomless blue eyes of his sucking her in.

  “With the exception of some bad choices in boyfriends, I haven’t trusted anyone since I was twelve.”

  His lip curled at the mention of boyfriends, then he frowned. “Since the car accident,” he guessed.

  Surprised by his perceptiveness, she focused on the mirror. There were way too many questions to allow herself to be coerced—distracted—into talking about the past.

  “I would never let anything hurt you.”

  Part of her believed him. The other part was simply too stunned by how much she already trusted him to give in entirely. Still, the soft caress of his thumb along the inside of her wrist soothed her apprehension, and she let him guide her closer to the mirror.

  She brushed her fingers across the surface, still expecting to find it hard and cool. Instead, her fingers pushed through the shimmery membrane. A breeze whispered across her hand, the meadow’s bright sun warming her instantly.

  “How is this possible? And if you say hocus-pocus I’ll hit you, I swear.”

  Tristan smiled.

  “What is that place?”

  “Avalon.”

  She let her hand drop and the world skidded a little sideways for a moment.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist as though he expected her to hit the ground again. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

  “Assuming I believe it.” Being drugged seemed like such an easier explanation for everything.

  “You’re right.”

  “I am?” Somehow she’d expected him to be annoyed she doubted it, doubted him. But how could she not? Even Alice really only had a talking cat and the Mad Hatter to deal with.

  “Seeing is believing, right?” His tone made her heart pound so fast it nearly burst through her chest.

  He took a step back, unsnapped his jeans.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you answers.”

  Even though it was what she wanted, what she’d demanded, she reached out to touch him, to stop him.

  A shimmer of silver, like with the mirror, waved in front of her. The tattoo on her hand tingled like it was moving across her skin.

  She drew her hand back, frowned at the unchanged brand. Weird. No, she’d surpassed weird a few thousand light years ago.

  A soft thump, followed by a familiar purr snapped her gaze up.

  Tristan had…vanished, run, hid—all of them would have worked for her, but she knew none of them would have been right. God help her, she knew, even though she didn’t want to.

  Tristan and the black cat were one and the same.

  —

  “I need a drink.” Two hours later and Kennedy’s urge to get blindingly wasted hadn’t passed.

  “Try eating something,” Tristan encouraged.

  “I really have no urge to see what regurgitated omelet looks like, thanks.”

  He pushed a stack of pancakes in her direction instead.

  She didn’t glance at the plate. “Pass.”

  He forked one onto an empty plate, poured syrup over it and cut off a chunk. “Come on, one bite.”

  Her stomach growled despite the dubious glance she spared for the fork he held up. “I’m a little old to be fed.”

  “That’s not what this is.” At her doubtful look, he shrugged. “Come on, I make kickass pancakes. Seriously.”

  She took a bite to humor him, waiting for the dripping piece to settle like lead in her stomach. Instead the heavenly taste lingered on her tongue long after she swallowed. “Wow.” Not even her mother’s family recipe had tasted this good.

  He grinned, started to cut off another piece, but she snagged the fork instead.

  “I’ll feed myself.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  Kennedy leaned away from him. After shifting back to his human form—naked—Tristan had tugged his jeans back on. She’d figured out an hour ago that he knew just how much the sight of his bare chest played havoc with her senses.

  Focusing on her plate was the only way she could ignore how he deliberately invaded her personal space, finding one excuse after another to touch her. It had started off innocent enough. Asking her to pass him something when he returned to answering her questions and cooking, stealing every chance he could to brush her hand or lean into her while reaching past her.

  By her guess, one more innocent touch would permanently rewire her insides.

  Finished with her pancake, she pushed the plate aside. Tristan countered the move by nudging the plate of omelets—undoubtedly cold omelets—in her direction.

  “No thanks.”

  “Who’s going to eat all this?”

  She glanced at the breakfast feast laid out across the table in bowls and dishes. “I’m not the one who felt compelled to cook way too much food.” Enough for a football team probably.

  “The only thing I’m compelled to do is touch you.”

  “And risk losing a paw.”

  A threat he obviously no longer took seriously since he stepped in front of her. His reluctant agreement to give her some space to process everything—
which would probably take days, weeks really—looked to be running out.

  And heaven help her that she didn’t care half as much as she should.

  Even when she’d fired question after question at him, she’d remained intimately aware of every move he made. The long, hot glances she ignored, the way he tilted his head when he got close enough to smell her hair, the rough edge that took hold of his voice each time she denied his touch.

  A freaking cat. A very big, very lethal cat.

  Alice had nothing on her.

  Exhausted and overwhelmed, Kennedy couldn’t fight the yawn that snuck up on her.

  Tristan tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’re tired.”

  “Would have guzzled a few Red Bulls if I’d known how last night was going to turn out.”

  He tugged her to her feet. “You need to sleep.”

  She slanted him a suspicious look. “Is that code for sex?”

  “Later.”

  Kennedy snorted, but he merely shrugged and led her out of the kitchen. By the time she reached his room, she’d yawned three more times and could barely keep her eyes open. That didn’t stop her stomach from tightening the moment she noticed the bed, its sheets still rumpled from earlier.

  Shutting the door, he looked over his shoulder at her. A long, sexually charged look.

  Oh my. “I’ve really had one hell of an afternoon…”

  His hand went to the fly of his jeans.

  “…and think sleep would be best.” Somehow she managed not to choke on her words, suddenly preoccupied with watching him tug down his zipper.

  Tristan cocked his head, dragging his gaze from her feet, up to her eyes. “You’re a lot of things, Kennedy, but a convincing liar isn’t one of them. You would welcome my touch and we both know it.”

  “If that’s true, what’s stopping you?” As far as challenges went, it fell miserably short.

  His hand encircled her wrist and she nearly whimpered at the contact. He coaxed her into the bathroom.

  She glanced in the mirror and tried not to cringe. “Bad hair days are a turn off for big cats, huh?”

  “Not even close.” He nuzzled her neck, and her eyes drifted shut. “You’re exhausted, and to be honest, so am I.”

  Trailing back toward the bed, she skidded to a stop when he stepped out of his jeans.

  Her every nerve ending stood at attention as he tossed his pants onto a chair, not displaying a hint of modesty as he stood before her beautifully naked—and aroused. She couldn’t help but let her gaze roam down his powerful chest, then lower…lower.