Gavin’s senses alerted. Scotland Yard had taught him a few things. That move had been shifty. “What do you have there?”
Her face flushed, then went chalky. “Nothing. Just trash.”
She started to toss it away, but Gavin caught her hand. He flashed a dazzling smile, meant to make her forget the stub. Her eyes widened and she opened her hand.
Gavin turned the stub over and felt his blood chill. Chloe’s name was on the back in her handwriting. Holding it up, he spoke in a deceptively soft tone. “This is the name of the woman I am looking for. Perhaps you might remember her now?”
“I…” She continued to stare at him enthralled as he intended. “I… ah, that was the winning ticket for a free stagecoach ride. I guess she must have been the one to win it. I’m not sure… I…I just got to work a few minutes ago.”
She wasn’t telling the whole truth. Gavin held her gaze, penetrating her mind to discover what she was hiding. The probe backfired, jolting him. He had hit a black wall of nothingness. Someone—or something—had already taken her memory.
Only a demon had those powers.
No wonder the statue at St. Anne’s had held his attention earlier. It had transformed itself into Brighid, Goddess of Avalon. She had only appeared to him once before, when she’d led him to Lancelot during Templar times. It was she who managed to strip Balor of his deity and exile him from the Holy Isle.
The Goddess had sent Gavin a warning. Balor—or one of his demons—was near.
And they had Chloe.
* * * *
Dear Lord, she was cold. Her jeans, denim jacket and t-shirt did little to protect her from the chilly wind that swept down the bare, granite face of the mountain. She tried to inch toward the small bonfire the men were huddled around, but an ankle manacle and chain tethered her to a stake in the ground.
“Cold, bitch?” one of the men asked while the other two laughed at his pun. “We can get you plenty warm if you are.”
She’d rather freeze to death. At least they hadn’t raped her—yet.
This abduction had been well thought-out. She was turned over to three of the motorcyclists, arms tied securely around one of them and a sack placed over her head as they roared off. It felt like they had ridden for hours, the road getting rougher and the terrain more uneven, but when they finally stopped it was still the middle of the night. Chloe suspected they were in Yosemite from how thin the air felt, but she could discern no clear trail. Of course, they wouldn’t exactly roll into one of the camping grounds. She shivered again. How cold did it get at whatever altitude they were at in October? God help her—what if it snowed? Freezing might be a real possibility.
Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch. One of the men had heated up canned stew and they were all enjoying hot, steamy bowls that smelled delicious in the frosty air. A bowl had been set out for her too—just out of reach of her tether.
It was clear what she’d have to do if she wanted to eat.
* * * *
Gavin cursed roundly as he made his way to the area where the tickets were sold for stage coach rides.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed for the night,” the gray-haired lady working the counter said.
“That is fine.” Gavin gave her an enticing smile. “I need to speak to the driver of the last ride that went out.”
She hesitated. “I’m afraid he’s been taken to the hospital.”
Something akin to lead landed in Gavin’s stomach. “Why? What happened?”
“We don’t know. I saw the horses leaving town—which we don’t do—and breaking into a canter, which we never do. I called my boss and he followed the team. They’d been abandoned only about a half mile away on a dirt road.”
“And the driver?”
“We found him in the alley. He’d been beaten.”
“Did he see who did it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Gavin set his mouth in a hard line. This had Balor written all over it. Whoever he’d hired would have been careful not to be seen. The driver who’d lured Chloe out—information he’d gotten from a grizzled old man at Charlie’s—wasn’t a local. Hardly surprising. God’s Blood. They had Chloe!
“Can I see the stage that was used?”
The woman frowned. “Well, I don’t know—”
Gavin pulled out his badge. “It is important.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my! Scotland Yard? What’s going on?”
“I’m hunting a man wanted by Interpol. I have reason to believe he abducted a young lady from the saloon on the pretense of giving her a free stagecoach ride.”
“We don’t do that.”
“Yes, I know. I would like to search the stage, though.”
“Of course!” The woman’s hands shook as she reached for her cell. “Let me call my boss.”
Thirty minutes later, Gavin crawled out of the coach, triumphantly holding a scarf Chloe had stuck in her jacket pocket earlier. Another twenty minutes had him scouring the spot where the coach had been found. Even though it was completely dark now, save for the moon beginning to rise, his keen eyesight honed in on several sets of tire marks. Bikes. From the looks of the dirt that had been scattered in their wake, they’d taken off in a hurry.
He held Chloe’s scarf to his nose, thankful that Lucas’ wolf had taught him to track when they hunted centuries ago. Her spicy cologne wafted from the soft wool, but more importantly, her own scent clung to it. Gavin crouched down, sniffing carefully. Chloe had been placed on one of those bikes. He had to be able to detect the smell of the man who owned it in order to track it.
Damn! How much time had elapsed? The crisp coolness of the night air had eliminated any trace of who had been here. He rose, going over the area once more, attuning himself to anything out of the ordinary.
Turning to backtrack, he almost missed it. A slight gleam under a scrubby bush caught his eye. Gavin bent and picked up an open switchblade. He inhaled deeply catching the strong male scent of its owner. Whoever it belonged to, the guy cherished it, almost like a lover.
Gavin grinned and snapped the blade shut. The knife would lead him to its owner. Taking it back to the car, he placed it on the dashboard, leaving the windows open so he could better track the bastards.
His fangs elongated. If Chloe had come to any harm from these thugs, Gavin would be drinking real blood when he caught up with them.
* * * *
The soup had long since gone cold and it still sat just out of reach. Chloe ignored her protesting stomach and curled into a tight ball trying to protect herself from the near-freezing temperatures.
“I say we have a little fun with the bitch,” one of the bikers said. “Ain’t nobody gonna know if we all screw her.”
“It’s bloody cold out here,” another one said. “She could fire up our blood all right.”
“We could keep warm all night,” the first biker replied. “I figure by the time each of you has a turn, I’ll be ready to go again.”
“Who says you go first?”
“My idea. Besides, the bitch kicked me hard and I lost my good knife. She owes me the first round while she’s still tight and dry. Once she’s bloodied up, ain’t as much fun.”
“Did you not hear what Lucien said?” the third biker asked. “She ain’t supposed to git hurt.”
“Lucien ain’t here. What you afraid of, Gully?”
“Ain’t afraid of nothin’ and you know it, Scarface. We’ve been making good money on the drug-runnin’ for Baylor. If the guy wants her in one piece, why ruin a good deal?”
“It ain’t like we’re going to break her bones,” the second biker, Hawk, said. “Hell, if we stake her out, we won’t even leave bruises.”
“What’s she gonna do? Tattle to Baylor? Like he would care?” Scarface asked. “Everything I heard is the guy is a real sadistic son-of-a-bitch.”
“My point,” Gully replied. “Who’s to say he won’t get us butchered slowly? I say w
e leave her alone.”
“Suit yourself,” Scarface answered and turned to Hawk. “You still want in?”
Hawk grinned. “In is exactly where I want to be. Maybe we can take turns doing her ass too.” He turned to Gully. “Sure you just want to watch?”
“Nah. I might as well get a piece too.”
They laughed and Chloe heard them shuffling to a stand. God! She couldn’t even run, shackled like she was. Her hand curled around a small rock she’d found lying on the ground earlier. At least she’d hurt one of them—and if she was lucky, she’d knock him out.
One of the men grabbed her leg. She jerked to a sitting position, swinging her arm hard and then fell forward as she met with only air.
A black blur moved past her, hauling Scarface off his feet. At first, Chloe thought it was a bear, but then the biker—Hawk, she thought—pitched against a nearby tree, his head making a loud crack as his neck angled sharply. The blur moved so fast that she didn’t realize Gully had joined Hawk at the bottom of the tree until she heard the second thwack. There was no doubt both of them had broken necks.
Whatever was rescuing her growled and chased after Scarface, who ran for his bike. Seconds later, she heard an agonizing scream and then there was silence.
Eerie silence. From the dark shadows, a form emerged. In the dim moonlight, it looked like a man, but who would have that kind of supernatural strength? The bikers had all been large, burly men and whoever—or whatever—this was, had tossed them about like ragdolls.
He came closer, the dying embers of the fire silhouetting his frame. The first thing Chloe saw were fangs, dripping with blood—and hands that were covered in it. She shrunk back as far as her chain would allow and slowing looked back at the man’s face.
Gavin stared back at her.
Chapter Nineteen
When Chloe awakened, she was lying in a bed, covered with a down comforter. The room was semi-dark, the curtains over a small window drawn, but a tiny stream of sunlight shown through. It seemed to be a cabin of sorts, rather rough-hewn, but where was she? As her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, something stirred to her right. Turning her head, she saw Gavin sitting in a chair by the small table, watching her.
Memories flooded her. The abduction, the near-rape, the blur that had moved so fast she couldn’t make it out and then, Gavin. Gavin with bloodied fangs.
Her heart raced momentarily and then slowed. Gavin looked perfectly normal. No fangs, no blood. She must have taken a blow to the head or something.
“Where am I?” she asked as she slowly sat up.
“You’re at the Glen Aulin camp in the High Sierras,” he answered, not moving.
Chloe frowned. “How did I get here?”
“After you swooned, I carried you down to the car and then came here. It was the closest place I could find.”
She was about to tell him she didn’t “swoon”, but since she didn’t have any recollection of events, perhaps she had. At any rate, she didn’t feel like arguing.
“How did you know where to find me?”
Gavin picked up the scarf that had been lying on the table. “Once I found this, I followed your trail.”
“My trail? From the way it felt, we were on rocky terrain most of the time. How could you follow a trail? Not that I’m not grateful.”
He hesitated, toying with the scarf. “What is the last memory you have?”
Dear Lord. She couldn’t tell him she thought she saw him with blood-dripping fangs. For sure, he’d take her right down this mountain to the nearest psycho clinic. “I’m not really certain,” she hedged. “I—things just happened so fast. I thought I was going to be gang-raped and then I thought I saw some sort of wild animal attack the bikers and then—and then, I thought I saw you. Well, I mean, I guess I did see you, since you’re here. But I don’t know what could have attacked those men…did you get there in time to see anything?”
Even from where he still sat, she could feel his dark eyes penetrating hers, but he said nothing.
“Did you see what it was?” she asked again. “Was it the dragon in small form? It wasn’t white, but—”
“It was not the dragon,” Gavin said and laid the scarf down. “You saw me.”
“Well, yes. But what was that other thing? The one that moved so fast it was just a blur?”
“That thing was I.”
“But how…” Before Chloe could finish the sentence, Gavin was seated on the bed next to her. Her heart pounded, although whether from surprise or from the sheer closeness of his male presence that overwhelmed her senses she didn’t know. “How did you do that?”
He grimaced and the next thing she knew, he was standing by the foot of the bed.
“I am a vampire.”
He couldn’t have just said that. She must be having an auditory hallucination. Just because she thought she’d seen him with dripping fangs—Geez. Maybe she did need that psycho clinic after all. “What did you say?”
“I said I was a vampire.”
She shook her head to clear it. “There aren’t any vampires—”
His fangs elongated.
Chloe drew in a deep breath. “Ah…”
With a snap, they retracted and he was sitting in the chair again, looking at her solemnly. “You need not fear me, Miss Whitney. I would never harm you. I know after what you witnessed, you might find that hard to believe, but I have sworn to protect you. I had hoped to keep my identity secret, but you were in danger. I only hope you do not find me overly repulsive now.”
She stared at him while her mind tried to process what he’d said. He wanted to protect her—had protected her by swooping in like that guy from Twilight saving Bella—only Gavin and she, unlike the movies, weren’t in a relationship. “You saved my life. How could I find you repulsive?”
Repulsive? Gavin had come to her rescue because she was in danger, just like a knight of old. It didn’t get much more romantic than that. If anything, it just made the man sexier. Now that she knew his secret, maybe she could lure him into bed with her.
Afraid? Hardly. Dangerous, maybe, but she trusted Gavin completely.
When she had decided to trust him, she didn’t know, but she did.
* * * *
Gavin could hardly believe that Chloe had not started screaming like a banshee. That’s what used to happen before he learned to hide his identity. He would not have blamed her if she’d gotten hysterical, either. The past twenty-four hours had been an ordeal and ended seeing him in full vampire mode.
Instead, she had eyed him with what seemed like desire—a look so hot he felt singed and wondered if he was the one who had gone mad.
He glanced down at her now, sitting beside him—close beside him—on a rock near the waterfall, watching the sunset. She looked calm, but he sensed she was seething with questions. He would try to be as honest as he could.
“It will be dark soon and we can start getting back to the car,” he said and gave her a rueful smile. “I work better at night.”
Chloe looked up at him. “I always wondered why you wore those shades. How do you stand the daylight?”
“Special meds make my skin less sensitive.”
She continued to study him. “How often do you need to…to…drink blood?”
“Not that often anymore. And there’s synthetic blood now. I rarely…do what you saw.” Although had he been purely human, he would have done the same thing to those bastards.
“Were you born a vampire?”
“No.” He waited, sure the next question would come—and it did.
“When—how—what happened?”
“The ‘how’ I am not sure of. I was wounded in a battle, near death. A woman came—I thought to take me to heaven or maybe hell—but then I woke up…as a vampire.”
‘When?”
Gavin hesitated. If he told her he was an Immortal, she would either think he was insane or she really would run screaming from his presence. As much as he wanted to be totally honest wit
h her, he could not. The knights had all been sworn to secrecy.
“It’s been a number of years. But you have nothing to fear,” he said, both to ease whatever doubts she might still have and to change the subject, “I can control my urges.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow. “That I know. You’ve rejected me often enough.”
“What—” he started to say and then caught himself. God’s Blood! He hadn’t meant those urges. “I have not rejected you. I was trying to save you from what I am.”
The other brow went up. “What if I don’t want to be saved?”
He stared at her. “You know what I am. You saw what I am capable of—”
“And you just said you can control that. I’m not asking you to…to turn me, if that’s the right word.”
“Then what are you asking?” Gavin asked before he thought to stop himself. This conversation was going to get him into even deeper trouble.
Chloe stood, tugging at his hand. “Let me show you,” she said.
* * * *
Naked, Gavin was even more magnificent that Chloe had imagined—and her imagination had run wild for weeks now. At first, she had thought he might refuse to follow her back to the cabin—he was still calling her Miss Whitney, for Pete’s sake—but even English resolve had its melting point.
Undressing him was a surprising turn-on. Chloe knew she was no seductress, but running her palms over his marble smooth, sculpted chest brought a sharp intake of breath from him, although he remained stoically mute. She felt his belly muscles contract as she unzipped his pants and slid them—along with her hands—slowly down his thighs. His erection strained against the black, low-cut briefs he wore and she stroked that massive, jutting shaft slowly, teasing by circling a finger around its head.
With a growl that sounded feral, Gavin swung her onto the bed and on her back, in one fell swoop managing to undo the buttons of her shirt at the same time. Cool air assailed her bare breasts and then his large, strong hand covered one of them while his warm breath fanned the other one. He laved the aureole, circling it with his tongue, flicking over the nipple with his tongue, while he rubbed the other hard tip between thumb and forefinger. Chloe gasped and arched her back for more.
The Immortals III: Gavin Page 16