Watching the screen, she sat on the bed, smoothing her palms over her soft cotton pajama bottoms. This time she didn’t jump at the knock at the door, thinking the detectives might have returned with more questions.
A glance through the peephole showed one of the hotel maids. Opening the door, Tresa said, “Yes?”
The woman blinked, as if she didn’t know how to respond. Then she looked searchingly to her right. Tresa followed her gaze… and gasped at the large shape there.
She tried to slam the door shut, but he was too fast. He grabbed her arm and thrust her inside the room before him, pausing only to lightly pat the maid on the cheek as if they were old friends.
His deep voice rumbled on the air. “Thank you, sweetheart. Forget about me and go back to work now.”
She nodded rather dazedly, smiling at Darius with yearning. It was clear she didn’t want to go anywhere. She was enamored of the lycan, and not by accident, Tresa was sure. Lycans possessed the ability to enthrall—especially when it came to the opposite sex.
“Go. Now,” he commanded.
She moved away.
And then he shut the door. Sealing them in.
She yanked her arm free and stumbled away, rubbing her skin, still feeling the burning imprint of his fingers there.
“You found me,” she rasped.
He’d survived. A ripple of relief coursed through her that she quickly squelched. She didn’t want him to know she was relieved. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was happy to see him. She wasn’t.
He crossed his arms and squared off in front of her, blocking the door. “Not too difficult.”
“Now what?” she asked, her voice quivering. She lifted her chin. “You cuff me to the bed again? Settle in and wait for a demon?”
He moved from the door, apparently unconcerned that she would bolt for freedom. And why should he worry? She could never outrun him.
Yes, she had powers, abilities. She could bring the ceiling down on him if she wanted to, but did she really want to draw Balthazar to her side with Darius here? No. That was the last thing she wanted to do.
He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled around the room with a calmness that belied the tension swirling in the air. Her gaze swept over him. All lean lines and well-honed muscles, his body was built for conquering. Or for giving pleasure. She banished the outrageous thought. There was no pleasure to be had at the hands of a lycan.
He stopped beside the window and peered out through the curtains before looking back at her. His silver eyes pinned her. “Did you make that tree fall on the house?”
She snorted and sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly needing to sit—her legs were shaking too badly. “How else did you imagine it happened?”
“Why’d you do it?”
He continued to stare at her, his pewter gaze hot and probing. Her skin tingled where it roamed, and she resisted the urge to fidget.
He moved closer now. One step and he could touch her. A shiver skimmed her spine.
She shrugged one shoulder, uncomfortable beneath that stare, suddenly wishing she was still standing—and farther away from him. “It didn’t seem right, leaving you there at their mercy.”
“Right?” He uttered the word as though he had never heard it before. Clearly he didn’t expect her to be concerned with matters of right and wrong. Well, wrong maybe.
“As you’ve pointed out, you are what you are through no choice of your own. It doesn’t seem fair that they should kill you for that alone.”
“It doesn’t?” He gazed at her like she was a curiosity.
“You’re not like the other…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Lycans,” he supplied.
“You’re trying to break the curse, however pointless your efforts.”
“Such a pessimist.” Shaking his head, he moved to the window again and looked down at the parking lot. She took the time to study him unreservedly. The broad expanse of his back; the perfect mold of his jeans over his ass. Heat washed her face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, still staring out at the night. “These murders interest you. Why?”
She tensed. He knew what had brought her here, and she had to decide how much to tell him since it seemed unlikely that she would shake free of him again. At least not until he realized he was well and truly cursed. Forever. No undoing it.
Because he was as trapped as she was.
TEN
You want to know why I’m here? Very well. I’ll tell you,” Tresa said.
At the sound of her silky-smooth voice, he turned and studied her. She held herself tensely, her lithe shape reminding him of a wire stretched taut. Her hair hung sleekly around her face. His palms tingled, itching to touch the strands and feel if they were as silken as they looked. Just the sight of her drove home how dangerous she was.
He knew she was clever. He couldn’t trust her—even if she had helped him escape from those hunters.
He lowered himself to the bed beside her, keeping a careful distance. He had no wish to touch her. Well, he did. He had desires, after all, and she was lovely. Alluring. But he wouldn’t succumb to the temptation. He couldn’t.
She obviously didn’t want to be close to him, either. She scooted inches away, moistening her lips, and his stomach clenched at the sight of that pink tongue tracing her very desirable mouth.
She continued, “I was telling the truth about my demon. He hasn’t bothered me in over a year. In the past, even in cold climates, he would make brief appearances and try to regain control over me.”
“Go on. What has this got to do with you being here?”
Her lip curled in the semblance of a smile. “I’m here because Balthazar is here.”
Everything inside him leapt to life. The very demon who’d granted her wish and started the lycan curse… was here. He started to push up from the bed, as if he would go find the bastard right then. Her hand on his thigh pulled him back—and that touch drove every thought from his head.
A hissing breath escaped him.
She jerked her hand back, color staining her pale cheeks.
“Don’t,” he warned.
She nodded quickly, obviously understanding. She’d been around long enough to understand the nature of a lycan—the urges, the lack of impulse control. He’d stopped himself from killing and feeding during the last century, but he didn’t live as a monk. Sex was the one vice he allowed himself. Occasionally and with caution.
His thigh burned where her hand had touched him. He looked away, clenching the edge of the bed until he regained his control, wrapping it around him like a shield.
After a moment, he leveled his gaze back on her and got to the matter at hand. “Balthazar. That’s his name?”
Her voice floated, whisper soft. “Yes.”
“Why did you come looking for him? I thought you wanted to avoid him.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I have to stop him. He’s found another witch to manipulate. They have to be stopped.”
“Ah, such an altruist.”
The gold in her eyes flashed like warm candlelight. “Believe me or not. It’s the truth.”
“Easy,” he soothed. “I believe you.” And amazingly, he did. She was trying to stop her demon from hurting others. Just like she’d saved him from the hunters. “How do we find him?”
We.
As easily as that, before he’d consciously decided it, he’d already accepted that they were in this together. They were going to have to team up to hunt down this demon.
She stared at him with wide eyes. Apparently she hadn’t missed the we, either.
“Like I said, he’s found another witch. Someone willing to commit depravities. So he’s not eager to reconnect with me now.”
He stared at her, the puzzle pieces fitting together. “She’s the Rose Petal Killer.”
Tresa nodded. “I’ve been in her head when she does these horrible things. My bond to Balthazar puts me
there. I’m there, but I can’t see her. I don’t know who she is.”
“But you’re a witness to the killings.” He absorbed that. “We can figure this out. We can find her.” And when they found her, they’d find the demon.
She nodded, sliding her hands nervously along her thighs.
The motion seemed so… human. Something a normal woman would do when she was nervous. Those slim fingers held his attention too long. He remembered the pressure of her hand on his thigh and his gut tightened.
He blinked and looked away, struggling to reconcile what was before him with what he had created in his head.
Standing, he moved to the phone and dialed the front desk. “Yes. We’re going to need to move into a larger room. Two beds. Tonight if possible.”
After listening to the clerk, he hung up the phone and faced her. “Gather your things.”
She hesitated only a moment and he knew the wheels were spinning in her head. She was trying to decide whether to fight him on this.
At last she reached a decision. The right one, apparently, because she nodded jerkily and gathered a few things. Moving into the bathroom, she returned with a small striped cosmetic bag that she stuffed into her luggage. A quick look around confirmed that she’d left nothing else. “I’m ready.”
Was her seeming malleability another ploy? Would she try to escape the first chance that came along?
She sighed beneath his scrutiny. “I’m not going to run.” Evidently her powers extended to mind reading. “All I want to do is find Balthazar’s witch and stop her. As long as you don’t get in my way, then we won’t have any problems.”
“Then we won’t have any problems,” he agreed, lifting her luggage. “We’re both after the same thing.”
For now, they were in this together.
Her mouth curled humorlessly. “Who would ever have thought that possible?”
She glided past him and out the door. Shaking his head, he followed her into the hall, marveling that he should feel anything less than hatred for her.
But it was there. A decided lack of animosity for this witch who would delay her own escape to save him. Who wanted to stop another witch from taking innocent lives.
He stared at her slim back, ramrod straight. She strode ahead of him with effortless grace. Her hips swayed in a way that beckoned him, called to the animal inside him that craved a mate—the carnal, savage part that wanted to seize her hips, pull her beneath him and drive his cock deep into her heat. And maybe most alarming, it wasn’t just about claiming her, fucking her until the urge was gone.
She was a mystery, and he felt compelled to solve her. He shouldn’t feel that way, but the urge was there—to peel back all her layers, to see to the true core of her. And he couldn’t even tell himself not to care. Not as long as solving the riddle of who she was—what she was—helped him reclaim his soul.
* * *
DARIUS TURNED ON THE television as soon as they entered the room, flipping channels until he found the local news.
She dropped her bag beside one bed, staring at the short distance to the other one and wondering how she was supposed to sleep at night with him so close, her senses full of him. Feeling him. Smelling him. She shook her head. A lycan, a predator, a creature known for low impulse control. She was a fool to let him affect her.
To occupy her hands, she started unpacking. The murder was all over the news. They were reporting on the few details released and interviewing people who knew the victim, most of them students at San Vista College. Just like the last four victims had been. Fear was clear in their faces. They were worried. The reporter featured a few university parents who talked about withdrawing their children.
She paused, watching, sick at heart by the evidence of so much pain, so much damage left by Balthazar. “All the victims have been students at San Vista College.”
He glanced back at her from where he sat on a small couch before the television. “Then we know where to start.”
Tresa nodded. “She knows all the victims. Personally.” She thought back to her dreams, tapping into the thoughts and emotions of the witch in those moments when she killed. “She’s connected to them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re in her circle of friends.”
On the television, the dean of students was making a speech on the steps of a campus building. He expressed his grief and invited students to a memorial service tomorrow.
“She’ll be there,” Tresa announced, certain. “She won’t be able to stay away.”
“Then we’ll be there, too.” He rose in one fluid motion, stripping his shirt over his head smoothly.
Her breath seized inside her lungs. How long had it been since she’d been alone with a man? In such close quarters? His skin was swarthy, olive hued. His body sculpted perfectly.
Her belly fluttered treacherously. Her gaze devoured him, her chest aching, tight, as he moved into the bathroom and started the shower.
She swallowed past the sudden dryness in her mouth.
He emerged again, every masculine inch of him exuding power and virility. Her palms grew damp and she sank down on the edge of the bed, sliding her hands under her thighs, trapping them as if she didn’t trust them not to reach for him.
He rummaged in his bag and reemerged with a pair of handcuffs.
She gasped and recoiled, springing up and fleeing to the far corner of the room.
He angled his head, his eyes hard and intent. Merciless still, even now that they’d teamed up. It was an unpleasant reminder that nothing had really changed. Not him. Not what he thought of her.
He clenched his jaw. “You want to do this on the bed or the chair?”
She shook her head. “Not again.” She held up a hand to ward him off. “You said we’re in this together—”
“That doesn’t mean I can trust you.”
“What am I going to do? Run away? Where am I going to go? You know why I came here. I can’t hide from you anymore.”
He approached. She backed into the wall until she could go no farther.
He grasped her wrist, positioning the steel cuff over it. She cringed and tried to pull free, but the hot press of his fingers was inescapable.
He studied her. His face was so close. He was so close. The manly scent of him filled her nostrils.
“I can’t afford to take the chance.” He actually sounded apologetic.
“Please.” Her voice cracked, her gaze dropping to the cuffs. Memories flooded her, as fresh as though they’d happened yesterday. They flashed through her mind like bursts of lightning in the dark. The weight of a chain squeezing around her. The burn of water in her nose, in her lungs. “I can’t be bound. Not again.”
He cocked his head as though he understood she wasn’t simply referring to when he had handcuffed her. But something else. Something worse. His gaze pierced her, penetrating, demanding elaboration… the truth, everything.
She swallowed, words choking her. Shaking her head, she looked away, blinking suddenly stinging eyes, unwilling to bare herself to him.
The past was her burden. She’d never spoken of it… never shared it with anyone. Not in all this time. But then, who would she share such a horrible memory with? Who cared enough to want to know? There was no one. There had never been anyone in all these years.
“It was Etienne Marshan,” she heard herself begin, her voice a whisper.
Impossible as it seemed, his silver eyes brightened. Of course he recognized the name. “The first lycan… the one you cursed?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “He was my liege lord. He bound me, weighed me down with chains and stones.” She drew a deep breath. “And then he drowned me.” She could almost taste the dark river water again, feel it gagging her, blacking out her world.
Darius gazed at her, unblinking. “He tried to kill you?”
“He did kill me,” she retorted. “I died that day. My heart. My body.” She thrummed her fingertips against her mouth, nervous energy zipping through her as she recalled that da
y… that nightmare she relived whenever she allowed herself to remember. Which wasn’t often.
But she relived it again right now, sharing it with Darius. She didn’t understand why she was telling him this, only that it felt right. She needed him to understand. Needed him to know why she couldn’t be restrained again. Also… she needed him to understand that she wasn’t what he thought. She was more.
He watched her with his piercing gaze, waiting for her to continue. She moistened her lips. His gaze lowered, fixing on her mouth with an intensity that made her skin tighten.
“He murdered me alongside my family that day. When Balthazar promised me vengeance, I took it. With my last dying breath, I took it. I didn’t realize what it would mean… what he would do.” She laughed brokenly, bitterness welling up inside her. “Demons are tricky that way. He caught me at my weakest moment. I wasn’t in a position to read the fine print. I just wanted to make Marshan pay.”
She released her breath and dropped her gaze to the cuffs he held in his hand. He didn’t move toward her. His legs stayed braced squarely in front of her. She held herself tightly, waiting for the cold steel to circle her wrists.
It never happened.
He touched her chin with his fingers, lifting her face with that gentle contact. His expression was inscrutable, the sharp angles and carved lines revealing nothing.
Everything, her entire world in that moment, centered on his hand on her face. The brush of his fingers against her skin. How long since she had felt the touch of another? Tenderness?
She blinked as he slid his hand away, telling herself it couldn’t have been gentleness. He hated her. He wanted her dead. Wanted her to pay, to suffer. She was his Etienne Marshan.
And she could not fault him for that.
After a long moment, he tossed the cuffs on the bed and moved into the bathroom without a word, shutting the door.
Alone, she stared at the handcuffs and then the closed bathroom door, marveling that he’d decided to trust her.
She pushed from the wall and turned off the suite’s overhead light. Next, she flipped on the small desk lamp. A dull circle of light glowed from beneath the shade.
A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) Page 8