Melissa frowned. “So much for being a guest,” she said dryly. She turned, and her eyebrows rose.
Hunter stood in front of the fire, and the flames seemed to arc and dance toward his fingertips, almost as though he was sucking in the energy through his pores.
He flexed his fingers, then turned to her. “Are you okay?” he asked her quietly. Her eyes widened, just a little. After everything that had happened in the hall, he was asking her if she was all right?
“I’m fine, Hunter,” she told him. Admittedly, being surrounded and “hosted” by vampires was not on her bucket list, but she was living, she was breathing, and if she just kept reminding herself of that, she wouldn’t lose it.
He frowned. “We’re in the home of the Darkken, and I know how you feel about us shadow breeds.”
She gave him a half smile. He had no idea how she felt about the shadow breeds. Not many did. She also noted how he classed himself as a shadow breed, yet she’d seemed to have forgotten that fact, or at least subconsciously decided to ignore it. She professed to hate the shadow breeds, but she feared them, too, and it was that fear that had almost frozen her when the Darkken guardian had attacked.
She was still trying to stop the memories from surfacing, but even now, she had to ruthlessly block out the echoes of her screams from her mind, of Theo’s agonized cries...of what came next.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice stronger. She wasn’t going to cave in to the panic. She wasn’t going to surrender, not to any shadow breed. She eyed the dark-haired man as he turned to stare back down at the fire. She’d surrendered a lot to this particular shadow breed. More than he’d ever know.
He was the first man she’d lain with since Theo. She subsided into the armchair facing the fire, letting its warmth slowly chase off the chill of her anxiety, her fear. For the first time since she’d stormed off from him in the tunnel, she let herself face that fact. She’d made love with Hunter. The warmth blooming in her cheeks couldn’t be fully attributed to the fire. Even now, those heated, whispery memories were swamping the other scenes that were trying to get airplay in her mind.
She’d made love with a light warrior. A shadow breed. The kind of guy she’d sworn to annihilate, not...love. She should feel guilty. She’d betrayed Theo’s memory in the worst possible way. Not only had she lain with another, he was one of them.
And yet, the guilt was...missing. Maybe she was still in shock. Maybe, on some level, her mind was already running through survival scenarios. One thing it wasn’t doing was wallowing in guilt, or shame. What she and Hunter had shared in that tunnel—well, it wasn’t shameful. It had been beautiful. She was trying to grapple with the softer feelings that came along with that coupling.
And then the big jerk had reacted as though he was the one to experience regret. That gave Hunter a whole level of conscience she wasn’t prepared to recognize. He’d tried to kill her, for crying out loud. And she’d made love to him? It was a habit she really needed to break. How could she forget a minor detail like attempted homicide?
And yet, the man who’d tried to kill her had saved her life more than once since. He’d had plenty of opportunity to leave, but instead he’d stayed. He’d sacrificed his own freedom for her survival. And he’d made love to her with a passion and care she’d never experienced before—and that she wanted to experience again. She swallowed. Now they were held hostage by the Darkken, and Hunter’s father was going on a homicidal rampage to find them. She shouldn’t be thinking about sex. No, not sex. Making love.
Oh, and Hunter had been reunited with his undead mother. She shouldn’t forget that little gem. She lifted her gaze from the flames to Hunter. The firelight flickered, a play of light and shadow across his handsome features.
He still didn’t wear a shirt. Not that she was complaining. Yet, right now, gazing at his profile, she could see the tightness around his lips, the tension in his jaw. She didn’t quite understand how, but she could sense his shock, his...hurt. He didn’t want to talk about it, though, she could tell.
Well, you didn’t always get what you want, because otherwise they’d be trying out that massive bed.
“So, you have a mother, after all...” she commented. “I always thought you were the spawn of the devil, but it looks like you entered the world in the customary fashion.”
Hunter blinked, his lips parted, and the look he gave her was a charming cross between grumpy and humorous. His lips curled in a wry smile. “Yes, it appears my dearly departed mother isn’t so departed, after all.” His smile dropped, and he returned his gaze to the fire.
Melissa stretched her arms toward the fire, letting the warmth curl around her fingers. She didn’t play with the flames, though, not like Hunter did. This fire had to be recharging his batteries. Which meant they didn’t need to make love again, not for that reason, anyway. Melissa frowned as she glanced down at her fingers.
She cleared her throat. “You know,” she began softly, “even though she, uh, gave you guys some distance, it seems she loves you.” She had seen the woman’s pain, her sorrow and sadness, and her very real shame at leaving her family behind. It had been fascinating. Probably because she’d never seen anything like that from her own mother.
Hunter drew back from the fire to collapse on the settee. “She didn’t ‘give us distance,’ Red. She left us.”
“She died.”
“And then she came back, but only for her white boy,” Hunter pointed out.
“She loves you.”
“She loves the white boy more.”
“Stop calling him that, he’s your brother.”
“I don’t want another brother. I have enough problems with the one I’ve got already.”
Melissa sighed. “I’ve got a brother, and I’d be damned lucky if I had another sibling like him.”
“Well, there’s the difference. You and your sibling actually like each other.”
“You don’t like your brother?” Melissa leaned back into the depths of the armchair and raised an eyebrow at the handsome man lounging across from her. “You set fire to my apothecary for your brother. You tried to kill me for your brother. Don’t try to tell me you don’t have some feelings for your brother.”
Hunter’s mouth turned down at the corners. “It’s complicated.”
“Oh, seeing your family in action—a father who killed his wife, and tried to kill you and your brother, and who is now killing innocents in the underground until he can kill us, a mother who didn’t stay dead, and a half brother you never knew existed and who seems to be an equal match for your powers—I’m beginning to think complicated comes with the territory when it comes to you.”
He shot her an exasperated look. “It’s not the kind of tale you tell by the fire,” he said, casually gesturing to the fireplace, the rug and the room in general. The movement caused the muscles of his arm to flex, and his pectoral muscle bunched. She eyed his nipple for a moment, then lifted her gaze to meet his. She wanted to feel his body against hers again. She wanted to feel all those wonderful sensations he’d given her back in the tunnel, but more than that, she wanted to ease the pain she sensed in him, soothe all the anger, the hurt.
“Don’t worry, I don’t believe in fairy tales. Besides, what else are we going to do, trapped in this room until your brother figures out what to do with us?” She tilted her head to gaze at him in inquiry.
“Half brother,” Hunter corrected.
She inclined her head, accepting his qualification. “Half brother.”
Hunter sighed, then glanced around the room. She could think of something else to do than talk, and she knew the same thought had occurred to him when Hunter’s gaze flicked from the bed, then back to her. His gaze darkened with arousal.
Then he blinked, composing his features as he sat up on the settee and leaned over to grab the bottle of wine and
the two goblets.
“Well, if I’m going to tell this miserable tale, we’re both going to need to get drunk.”
Chapter 18
“So, your father compelled this woman to be the perfect woman for you, and the perfect woman for your brother, just to see who could win her over?” Melissa had curled up on the armchair, her legs tucked under her, her elbow on the armrest as she cupped her chin. He’d just poured her third glass of wine, and Hunter nodded as he emptied the bottle into his own goblet.
“Yep. Sick, huh? He said it was to give us purpose.” Hunter shook his head. Purpose. He had been quite happy, working in the clinic. Sure, he may have planted subliminal suggestions in some patients that had ended up benefiting him, but he’d never done anything that had been detrimental to his patients, and that was a record he was proud of. Healing people may not have had all the glory and fanfare his father was hoping for, but it was a good vocation. “My work, healing people, that was purpose enough for me,” he admitted quietly. He’d never said it aloud, not to anyone. It made him sound like some sort of benevolent tool, and he knew he wasn’t benevolent. This work was entirely selfish. It made him feel good.
Melissa traced the rim of her goblet. “I overheard your conversation with your brother,” she admitted. “The one you had with your father.”
Hunter’s eyebrows rose. “So you saw our dysfunction firsthand.” Wonderful. His mate had seen how sick and twisted he and his family truly were. He eyed the bond between them. It still flourished, still weaved and rose, like a beautiful collection of ribbons. His mother had left him, and everyone seemed to think the maternal bond was the strongest. If his own mother couldn’t stick around, why would Melissa? He wasn’t being maudlin, just realistic.
“How did she die?” Melissa asked quietly.
“My mother?”
“No, the woman you loved.”
There was so much weight in that sentence. He had loved Debbie. He wasn’t a monk, he’d had girlfriends, and he’d made sure he was careful with how much he consumed of them in their relationship, but Debbie... Debbie had been different. Special.
“My father threw her off an upstairs balcony.”
Melissa coughed on the wine she was sipping. When she’d caught her breath, she stared at him with a deep sympathy that darkened her green eyes. “Oh, Hunter.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t know it, at the time. I thought, with this fierce contest between my brother and me, that Ryder had done it.”
“Oh, that makes it much easier to process,” Melissa muttered as she shifted in her seat.
His lips curled briefly, but his memories were depressing enough to rob him of his humor. “She chose him,” he said quietly.
There was silence in the room, and he turned his head to gaze at the fireplace. The fire was dying. He rose, placing his cup on the tray, and crossed over to the pile of cut logs neatly stacked against the wall next to the fireplace. He picked a good, thick piece of wood and gently placed it on the embers. It came naturally, the little breath of light force that urged the flames to stir once again.
“She was compelled by your father. You have no idea what she really felt.”
Hunter shrugged. “She came to me, the morning before she died. Told me she’d made the biggest mistake, and that she should have chosen me over Ryder.” He sat down again. “I should have taken her away, then and there.” He frowned. “Debbie might still be alive today, if I had.”
Melissa set her goblet down on the tray with a distinct clink. “Did you say Debbie?” she asked, and Hunter’s eyes narrowed at her oh-so-casual tone.
“I did.”
Melissa nodded slowly. “I thought that’s what you said.”
She slid her legs down to the floor and rose to walk over toward the fire, her hands out as though trying to warm herself. Hunter noticed her hands were trembling, and then she quickly clasped them together.
Realization dawned, and Hunter sagged against the backrest of the settee. “My father mentioned Debbie visited a witch, one that blocked his ability to compel her. That was you, wasn’t it?” Melissa was the most well-known witch in Irondell, with a solid reputation. The bookstore witch was rumored to be the best, if he was honest. If Debbie was going to visit a witch, it would have been her. What a cruel coincidence.Melissa turned to him, her expression haunted. “I had no idea, Hunter,” she said, and her breath hitched. “I had a client, Debbie Philips. She came to me because she kept having blackouts, and found herself caught between two men, and not understanding how or why.”
Hunter tilted his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. Talk about six degrees of separation. Melissa had been the witch to protect Debbie from further compulsion. How damned ironic.
His father had admitted he and Debbie had been arguing upstairs at the family home, and in the ensuing struggle his father had pushed Debbie over the railing. She’d died from her injuries moments later. Because he could no longer compel her.
“So, you knew where her heart really lay,” Hunter commented.
Melissa caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and shook her head. “Don’t. Hunter, please, don’t.”
“Which one of us did she truly love?” Hunter asked, ignoring her plea. “I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t anymore. Was she still under compulsion when she came to tell me she’d made a mistake picking my brother over me, or was that her real instinct?”
“Hunter—”
“Tell me, Melissa,” he said as he rose from the settee. “Which of us did Debbie really love?”
Melissa gazed at him, her expression miserable, and she shook her head.
“Tell me,” he insisted, his voice louder.
The woman standing before him looked like she wanted to crawl into the fire itself. She rubbed her lips together for a moment, then met his gaze.
“Neither,” she told him in a whisper.
She may as well have shouted it at him. “Neither.” He chuckled, the sound harsh to his ears. He really was fundamentally flawed. He swore softly.
Melissa strummed her fingers against her denim-clad thigh. “She, uh—she liked you both, thought you were good guys, but whatever your father did to her, those moments she was being the perfect woman to both of you, she was being someone she wasn’t. The connections she had with you and your brother were built on a lie. She told me she had to do right by both of you, and end it.”
Melissa grimaced. “I’m sorry, Hunter,” she whispered.
He held up a hand and shook his head. “Don’t be. First my mother, then Debbie. I’m beginning to see the pattern.” The women he’d loved with all his heart didn’t love him in return. Or at least, not nearly as much. For some reason, he couldn’t make them want to stick around.
He glanced at the mating bond stretching between Melissa and himself. It was only a matter of time before Melissa left him, too. He pasted a fake smile on his face. “I’m fine. Trust me, I’m a doctor. I know how to get through stuff like this.” Only, he couldn’t dreamwalk through his own mind and switch off those painful memories.
For some reason, though, he suspected Melissa’s leaving would hurt him far greater than his mother and Debbie combined. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m tired. Think I’ll turn in.” He indicated the settee he was sprawled over. “I’ll take this, you take the bed.”
Melissa’s glance flitted to the bed that easily dominated the rest of the room. “There seems to be plenty of room for both of us,” she suggested softly.
He met her gaze. There was empathy, there was sadness, but there was also invitation. God, he was so tempted. So tempted to just once lie next to a woman, be held by a woman, be loved by a woman. This woman.
But that would just make the mating bond stronger, and more difficult to break. And break it would. He was a shadow breed, and despite her warm sympathy and li
stening ear, Melissa would never see him as anything more than that, and would never allow a mated commitment. He knew he was in for a fall, big-time, when she left. He just had to make sure it was something he could survive.
He shook his head. “We both know that if I get into that bed with you, neither of us will get much sleep.” Even saying that, he couldn’t stop his gaze from touring over her willowy body, those long legs that felt so right wrapped around his waist, the breasts that were made to fit his hands. He swallowed. God, he wanted her, and he wanted her to want him—for more than just pity sex. “It’s better this way.”
Melissa looked away and nodded, then made her way over to the bed. She tossed him a pillow and the extra blanket that was draped across the end of the bed.
“Good night, then,” she whispered as she kicked off her shoes and slid beneath the covers. She’d taken his rejection so calmly, but he knew otherwise. Through their shared connection he could sense her hurt, her embarrassment. He stretched out fully on the settee, punching the pillow.
The connection was on a feedback loop. At the moment, Melissa was totally oblivious to it, and he wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want her to sense it, didn’t want her to be aware of it—she’d probably kill him when she found out... But for now, she was in the dark. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. He’d get her to her brother’s place, make sure she was safe from harm, safe from his psycho father, and then they’d part ways. He sighed. A light warrior mated once in a lifetime. How fate had selected a fiery, sassy witch for him, he’d never understand. A fiery, sassy witch who hated all shadow breeds. Fate had a very twisted sense of humor.
Melissa sighed from the bed behind him, and he heard the linen rustle as she rolled over. She was lying there, mere feet away from him, all warm and relaxed and voluptuous, and he was sleeping on a settee that was about half a body-length too short, all because he was trying to be noble and not lock her into a bond she couldn’t, wouldn’t accept.
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