There was an odd popping sound—the guns. The guards had shot him . . . No!
She stared at the floor, bracing herself to see his bulletriddled body.
But he wasn’t there.
Holy shit, where is he?
She backed against the wall, swallowing the knot in her throat as she scanned the room. There was a crack, followed by a thud. That was all she heard—she saw nothing.
But two of the guards lay dead on the floor, their eyes staring sightlessly at nothing, their heads at an odd angle.
He broke their necks, she realized.
There was another sickening crack, and this time, she saw just the rush of movement—a blurred shadow, a shadow that moved faster than any human possibly could.
Now all four guards were dead, leaving only Sanders and his so-called associates. Sanders stood cowering in a corner, clutching a gun in his hand.
Darkness edged in on her vision and she sucked in a breath, rubbed at her eyes. She wasn’t going to pass out . . . but then she realized, it wasn’t her.
The room was darker. Almost bathed in twilight, even though the lights blazed brilliantly overhead.
A low growl rumbled through the room, and she edged away, creeping along the wall.
Something silver flashed, caught her eye. Morgan whipped her head around. Marty. He shot Sanders a dark look and growled, “I told you that you didn’t know what you were messing with.”
He swiped out a hand—fast, so fast. Morgan just barely saw the movement. Then all she saw was the spray of blood gushing from Sanders’s throat.
She sucked in a breath. What in the hell had she just seen?
“Stay the fuck away from me,” she warned, lifting a hand as Marty moved across the floor toward her.
“You want to get out of this alive, you’re coming with me,” Marty growled.
“I don’t think so.” That cool, collected arrogance settled back over her shoulders, a comforting cloak. She felt like a stranger in her own skin—yet oddly . . . whole. “Trust me, you don’t know what you’re messing with. You might think you do, but you’re wrong.”
He snarled. The bones in his face rippled. He turned his head, cracking his neck. When he looked back at her his eyes were glowing again and she’d swear his teeth were longer. “Stupid little witch, you really think you can handle me? Or him? ”
She hurled fire at him. As he jerked back to avoid it, he nearly tripped over the body at his feet.
Morgan stared at the dead man, dazed. She hadn’t even seen him go down. It was the third man who’d been at the table with Sanders.
Now only two men remained, Marty and the silent fourth man. That one was just a few feet away from the door, creeping closer and closer to it and swearing in Spanish. As their gazes locked, something ugly flashed through his eyes.
“Puta.” He spat it out, his voice harsh with terror. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gun, leveled it at her. “What are you doing?”
“She isn’t doing it.” It was a low, rough voice . . . the sound of it was oddly familiar, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “I am.”
Marty swore. He shot her a narrow look and said, “We can’t survive this if we fight each other. Help me deal with him and then you can do whatever the hell you want.”
“Shut up, wolf. You’re already a dead man.” Abruptly, the shadows darkening the room were gone and she could see him.
The man . . .
She sucked in a startled breath as she caught sight of his face.
She knew that face.
She’d seen it in her dreams damn near every night. She’d forgotten so much of her life, ever since she’d woken up in front of that ramshackle little house, with Jazzy hovering over her. But she hadn’t forgotten him.
He moved then, and once more his body was nothing but a blur. The man holding the gun cried out, jerked his arm up. A split second later, the gun was torn from his hand. Morgan dodged as it crashed into the wall next to her with so much force, the drywall split.
In the time it took for her to look from them to the gun and back, the fourth man was dead.
Now it was just her, trapped in a room with a living, breathing machine of death and Marty with his freakishly glowing eyes and teeth that would look more at home in the mouth of a tiger.
Or a wolf . . .
Marty looked at her as shadows descended on the room. Blind terror flooded his eyes and he demanded, “Don’t just fucking stand there!”
But Morgan couldn’t do anything else.
Once more, that comforting confidence was gone and she could barely breathe, could hardly think. The fear that lived inside her screeched, demanded she run.
Run, she whispered to herself. He’s going to kill everybody here. That’s what his kind does . . . they kill.
His kind . . .
“Not his kind, ” another voice whispered. “Their kind kill . . . and our kind kill them. ”
Pain swamped her, drowning out the voices in her head. Groaning, she grabbed her head. “Shut up. Shut up. Shutupshutup ,” she rasped, her voice rising with each word until she was screaming.
The pain in her head intensified, nearly doubling her over.
Run.
But she couldn’t move a muscle.
Not to save her life.
She looked around the room, searching for him. Marty was edging toward the open window. She could just barely make out his form, but the other man . . . she couldn’t see him. Couldn’t sense him.
And then he was there, standing between Marty and the window.
“Time to die,” he said softly.
Marty growled. The muscles in his body tensed and she held her breath, certain he was going to leap for the other man.
But he did a backflip—son of a bitch, a fucking backflip—in her direction, landing just a few feet away.
The man’s eyes flicked toward hers. She sucked in a breath and retreated until her back hit the wall. As the shadows once more faded from the room, she squeezed her eyes closed. Marty turned toward her and the man whispered, “Don’t. Keep away from her . . . run now, and maybe you’ll live another night.”
Marty stilled, glancing from the man to Morgan. She couldn’t hide her fear, not now. She watched as his nostrils flared. Smelling her. Then he smirked.
“You want her? Fine, vamp. She’s yours.” He shot Morgan a look and said, “Stupid bitch. You should have listened to me . . . you might have stood half a chance.”
Then he was gone, disappearing out the open window with blinding, blurring speed.
She was alone with him now. She was surrounded by blood and death, staring into eyes of soft, velvety brown and listening to her heart race. Fear lay in the back of her mouth, a nasty, metallic film. She swallowed past the knot in her throat.
Was she next?
Yes, you stupid bitch. You’re next. If you’d gone with the wolf, you might have lived through this. It was an angry whisper, full of hate, mockery and derision. You should have run and now you’re gonna die.
“No,” she whimpered.
Yes . . .
After all, she was in here with them . . . earlier, she’d killed a man. Last night, she’d killed a man. God only knows what she might have done for these bastards, if it meant keeping her sister safe.
Her skin prickled and she sucked in a breath.
The scent of him flooded her head. Male musk, soap, something else . . . something darkly seductive, something she could come to crave. She clenched her hands into fists, tight, so tight her nails bit into her flesh. Then she made herself open her eyes. She wouldn’t see him, she thought.
Not until he was on her—ready to kill her.
But she did see him.
He stood right there.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to kiss.
And then he was kissing her. Those hands that had so easily ended lives cradled her face, gently, reverently. His lips brushed against hers and her mouth opened on a gasp. Hi
s tongue traced her lower lip, and then gently, slowly, oh so slowly, he deepened the kiss. His hands tangled in her hair and tugged her head to the side, arching her neck.
Morgan groaned and leaned against him, opening her mouth wider. Then she slid her tongue out, rubbed it against his. He caught it between his teeth and bit down gently, so gently.
Trembling, she reached up, clutching at his shirt, wiggling closer. She tangled her fingers in the worn, faded cotton stretching over his chest and pushed up onto her toes.
More . . . she needed more.
Something sharp sliced over her lip—a hot, quick flash of pain. The man’s body shuddered, and then he tore himself away.
Caught off balance, she sagged and fell against the wall. Her body ached. Her nipples stabbed into the silken material of her bra and between her legs, she was wet, painfully empty.
He stood on the other side of the room, staring at her. For one split second, it seemed like his eyes glowed . . . sunshine gleaming behind black glass. Then he lowered his lashes and when he looked at her again, his eyes were dark, velvety brown . . . beautiful, but completely normal.
His face.
That angelically beautiful face . . .
“Son of a bitch,” she whispered.
Her dreams.
Morgan’s breath caught in her throat and she tore her eyes away from him. It was either that or pounce on him. And while pouncing on him held an awful lot of appeal, her brain was still reeling from what had happened in this room.
He had just killed six men. Quick as a blink. With his bare hands.
Well, no. Marty had killed Sanders.
Lowering her eyes, she looked at each of the bodies and then back at the only man left standing. “You killed them. All of them.”
His only response was a slow blink. Thick, curly lashes lowered, shielding his eyes for just a brief moment and then he was staring at her again.
“Am . . . Am I next?”
He cocked a brow and then he spoke. For a few seconds, she was too drunk on the sound of his voice to hear the words . . . slow, warm and heavy, with that lazy drawl of the South. It stroked over her senses like a velvet glove. If she were a cat, she might have purred and rubbed up against him, hoping he’d say something, anything else.
Then she blinked and understood what he had said.
“Some people deserve to die. I just gave them what they deserved,” he said.
Some people deserve to die . . . and I’m probably one of them. Her breath caught in her throat. Her blood roared in her ears and her heart raced. Meeting his eyes, she demanded, “Am I next?”
He said nothing. He just stared at her, his dark velvet eyes staring at her as though he saw nothing else. Just her. Only her.
Jerking her chin up, she demanded, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“You think I want to kill you,” he said.
Deadly words. A deadly man. That voice. Damn it, that voice . . . rough, low and slow . . . that sexy velvet drawl. It had her remembering dreams where he had made love to her, whispering in her ear as he touched her.
You’ve lost your mind. You never saw him before now. He’s never made love to you. In the back of her mind, a voice jeered, “He’s here to kill you . . . he might beat your sorry ass before he does it, but he’s not going to make love to you. ”
“Aren’t you?” She flexed her hands and mentally checked her energy. She could fight, if she had to. But somehow, she knew she didn’t stand a chance against him.
The thick black fringe of his lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “I’m not here to kill you.” He held out a hand. “Come on. We don’t have that much time.”
Morgan stared at his hand, shaken by how very much she wanted to put her hand in his. Shaken by how much she wanted to follow him, do whatever he asked.
He would keep me safe. With clear, blinding clarity, she knew it. So at odds with the angry, raging voice that even now whispered of her death . . . her death at his hands.
“He won’t keep you safe . . . he’ll kill you. Then he’ll find Jazzy and kill her.”
Mentally, she squared her shoulders. She wasn’t going to have a fucking mental breakdown, and if she was, she’d rather do it because something really scary wanted her dead, not because the voices in her head wouldn’t quit arguing.
As the voice started in on more of its nasty, slippery warnings, Morgan said silently, Just shut the hell up already.
If he wanted her dead, she didn’t stand a chance anyway.
“How did you do that?” She glanced past him to the men on the floor. “Are you . . . How . . . ” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to understand all the questions in her mind. “People can’t move that fast. How did you do that?”
Although his expression didn’t change, Morgan had the strangest feeling that she had startled him. His dark chocolate eyes narrowed on her face, his gaze heavy and intent.
“No time,” he muttered, shaking his head. “We don’t have time for this. Come on, we need to get out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. I wouldn’t.”
She gaped at him. “You come in here like the Grim Reaper, kill everybody in just a couple of minutes. And I’m supposed to believe that you don’t want to hurt me?”
A muscle jerked in his cheek. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have kissed you the moment I had a chance.” He cocked his head then, as though listening to something.
Although how he could hear much of anything outside this room other than the music, she didn’t know.
“Time’s up. We’re going. Now.”
It wasn’t a request.
Narrowing her eyes, Morgan said, “I don’t think so.”
He stared at her. In the depths of his eyes, she saw . . . something. Her heart started to race. Warmth unfurled inside her. Without even realizing it, she started to lift her hand.
Out in the hallway, there was a crash. Voices raised. Then the door rattled on its hinges as somebody began to pound against it.
“Peter, open up, man. Everything okay in there?”
The man in front of her sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry . . . ? ” Morgan shook her head, confused. From the corner of her eye, she saw a blur. But it came too quick. Alarm barely had a chance to form in her mind before he hit her.
Darkness swirled up, pulling her under.
CHAPTER 15
SHE hadn’t recognized him.
“Put it away, man,” Dominic told himself.
No time for it. Not right now. These streets were too open, too unfamiliar . . . and that damn werewolf was out there somewhere.
Dominic should have killed him, but he couldn’t risk it—if he had moved toward Nessa . . .
Somehow, Dominic knew she wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Not in that moment.
With her slight weight draped over his shoulder, he ran through the streets. It was dark and late, most of the streets abandoned. Nobody followed him, but his handiwork had been discovered.
He was a quarter mile away when they had finally busted the door down.
Not for the first time, Dominic was grateful for a vampire’s speed.
He was almost to his beach house when she started to stir. Putting on an extra burst of speed, he closed the distance. He was inside the house just as she woke up.
She didn’t wake up happy. She began to kick and struggle against him as he closed the door behind him. “Fucking asshole. Put me down.”
Dominic did just that, putting her on the couch. As he straightened, his eyes lingered on her face.
Damn it, your face . . .
This wasn’t really happening, was it?
It was her. The woman he’d dreamed about for most of his life. Her pale, peaches-and-cream complexion, a pink Cupid’s bow of a mouth, her heart-shaped face.
And those big b
lue eyes, so wide and confused and frightened . . . staring at him as though she didn’t know what in the hell was going on.
That makes two of us, sweetheart.
There was no recognition in her gaze.
When he had seen her earlier, she had been standing off to the side. Although none of the mortals would recognize it, she had been terrified.
Dominic had recognized it . . . miles away. It had drawn him in, pulled him close. He’d felt her. Sensed her fear . . . even now, he could feel it, sense it, smell it.
It roused every protective instinct he had, and all he wanted to do was hold her close, promise her that nobody would ever hurt her again.
But it went deeper than that.
Looking at her, even from a distance, it had felt like home. It was like he had found some part of himself that he hadn’t even realized was missing.
And she stared at him like he was a stranger.
Backing away, he stood in the middle of the room as she came off the couch. Her blue eyes blazed at him. “You hit me, you bastard.”
“You didn’t leave me with much choice.” Dominic swallowed the bitter taste of guilt, knowing he had done the right thing. But even knowing that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. “I needed to get you out of there and you made it clear you weren’t going to budge. I didn’t have time to fight with you, not if I wanted to keep you safe.”
“You son of a bitch.” She jerked her hands through her hair and started to pace. “You want me to believe you hit me to keep me safe. ”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything you don’t want to,” he said, and he knew he lied.
Yes, he expected her to believe him.
He expected her to look at him and feel the same crazy shit he felt when he looked at her.
But she didn’t . . .
Damn it, enough already. Just deal with it, you moron. Deal with it. You’ll just have to figure things out as you go.
Yes. That was exactly what he had to do, and he knew he could. Because he had to—he’d found her, damn it, he could figure the rest of this out. He hadn’t gotten this far, hadn’t made it this far to quit now. They could figure this mess out, damn it, and they would.
Decision made, he looked at her. His heart broke a little as he picked up on the fear dancing inside her, spinning through her, drawing her tighter and tighter. She kept it hidden deep inside, not letting it show on her face, but she couldn’t hide the signals her body was sending out.
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