Cursing beneath his breath, he pulled her into an alley between the hotel and a coffee shop. She tripped trying to keep up and he caught her, stopping her from falling.
“I don’t get by,” he repeated, backing her against the brick wall. As he stared down at her, her scent filled his nose. His breath fell in harsh rasps. “And I have you to thank for that.”
Her face crumpled. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I think of that every day? Every lycan out there is because of me, their hellish existence because of me…”
He sucked in a hissing breath. He didn’t mean that. He was thinking about her effect on him. About the torment of being near her, wanting her, and not being able to have her. Especially now that he knew her scent, her taste… her passion. It was all he could do not to pull her to him and take her.
But he couldn’t let her know that. He shouldn’t.
He hated how his heart clenched at the pain etched into her face. “So that means I should just forget and forgive?”
“I didn’t ask that of you.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t.”
“But it’s there. Since I met you, a voice in my head keeps telling me to forgive you.”
“Don’t,” she said simply, shaking her head. “I don’t deserve it.” Her dark hair swished around her like ink. His hands itched to gather it up.
He looked away, every sense alive and vibrating with an aching awareness of her. Her words echoed inside him. Don’t. I don’t deserve it.
Damn her, she would have to say that. Show herself to be humble. The opposite of what she was supposed to be, but precisely the type of female he couldn’t resist.
He released a pent-up sigh and faced her again. “It’s too late.”
She blinked, her eyes enormous with astonishment. As he took a heavy lock of her hair between his fingers, gently rubbing the silky strands, she stilled, freezing like prey in his grasp.
“You’re nothing you should be,” he whispered.
Her mouth parted on a soft gasp, her expression so damned innocent. So sweetly provocative. It only furthered his frustration. Squeezed a fist around his heart.
Before he could reconsider he acted on every impulse pumping through his blood. He slid his hand around her neck and pulled her mouth to his. Her lips were even more delicious than he remembered. Soft and warm and yielding. Nothing he deserved. Nothing he’d thought possible. Not from her.
His fingers closed around the back of her neck, the silk of her hair grazing his hand. He brought his other hand to her face, cupping her cheek, so soft against his rasping palm.
She tasted of sweetness and life. She was light. Not the death she’d brought to him and so many others.
His hands flexed against her softness, pulling her closer. Her arms wrapped around his waist, drawing him against her, her hands flattening against his back. Heat coursed through him. His skin snapped and pulled, the beast inside him waking, prowling beneath the surface, hungering, needing.
It wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Wanted to crawl inside her, fuse himself into her so that these feelings never ended. So he didn’t have to go back to the gnawing ache again.
To the void that could never be filled.
He flinched at the prospect, fear nipping his heels. And that shook him even more. That he should feel so panicked at being without her shook him.
When had she come to matter so much to him? How had he allowed that to happen?
He tore his hands free and stepped back, horror tripping through him.
She fell against the brick wall as though she couldn’t hold herself up without his arms around her. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. She lifted a hand to her lips, her fingers shaking as she traced them. The gold in her eyes shined molten in the burnished air, lighting a fire to him.
“Why d-did you…” Her voice faded.
He shook his head, unable to answer. Unwilling.
Turning, he left her, his hands opening and closing at his sides, aching for the feel of her again. He forced his feet to move ahead.
He wasn’t worried that she would run away. Wanting this witch captured drove her with a desperate intensity. Just like finding Balthazar and ending his curse drove him. There wasn’t room for anything else.
Until he was free of this curse, there never could be.
* * *
TRESA WATCHED HIM GO, her mind spinning, her lips burning, her heart pounding.
She touched the hair he had stroked and held. She’d forgotten how gentle a man’s hand could be. She choked on a sob and covered her mouth. Who would have thought she could have found that again in the arms of a lycan?
She stood leaning against the wall for several more minutes, until she felt more composed. Even so, she wasn’t ready to return to the room and face him.
She turned right, away from the hotel, and continued swiftly down the sidewalk. She passed several storefronts, upscale shops and boutiques that catered to people who lived happy, untarnished lives.
She shivered despite the balmy evening. Twinkly lights in a pet store window blinked cheerfully. She stopped and stared through the glass at the puppies. She’d owned several dogs over the years—dogs that she had loved, whose warmth she’d savored on the cold, long nights. They were her companions, the best thing she could ever hope to have. She couldn’t let herself have more. At least that’s what she’d always told herself.
How could she have a relationship with another person, given what she was, what she’d done? Even Darius was too good for her.
A puppy stood on its hind legs and pawed the glass. She pressed a palm to the window. A pet was the best she could have. It was the best she could allow herself. Even knowing how impossible Darius’s kiss, his touch—anything she shared with him was—Remorse filled her. And longing.
Knowing she didn’t deserve to ever feel anything remotely good was a hard thing to accept when presented with the temptation. And Darius was all temptation.
Everything in her had come alive in his arms. He’d woken that dormant part of her that remembered what it felt like to be loved. She never thought she could feel again anything close to what she’d had with Michel. Now she knew it was possible. More than possible.
She inhaled and dropped her hand from the glass. Turning, she headed back to the hotel, her steps slow. She may have discovered it was possible to feel alive again, but it was bittersweet because it was impossible for her to let that happen.
She’d given up the right to feel alive when she’d sold her soul to Balthazar.
FOURTEEN
Darius listened to the sound of Tresa’s movements. She’d returned to their room subdued. Avoiding his gaze, she’d gathered a few things and disappeared into the bathroom.
She took a long time in the shower, but he guessed most women did. Strange. He’d never thought of her like that. A woman with normal needs. Someone who took her time getting ready to go out. But now he knew, of course, that she was all too similar to mortal women. With vulnerabilities. Needs. Desires.
Now he couldn’t think of her any other way. As a woman with needs that matched his own.
A few years ago, he’d only wanted companionship. To find a mate to help fill the void, the emptiness. Another lycan like himself, who didn’t embrace the pack mentality.
He’d given up on that idea, having discovered it wasn’t that simple. A life cursed can never be easy and carefree.
Finding someone had been a fanciful notion. A fairy tale. His energies were better invested in trying to break his curse. For himself, his soul… for all mankind. As long as he existed like this, he was a danger.
The sound of the hair dryer died away, a sign, he hoped, that she would be out soon. He was eager to get going. He knew these college parties probably started late, but being alone with her in this hotel room wrecked him. At least so soon after that kiss. He could still taste her. His hands could still feel her…
Control was something he constantly struggled with, not just at the m
oonrise. His urges always ran strong. He told himself he just needed a little time to recover from that kiss with Tresa. He’d reclaim his control soon enough; he always did. Then the urge to have her—take her—wouldn’t burn through him like a maelstrom.
The thought of having her, parting her thighs and sinking himself inside her heat… It didn’t even disgust him anymore. And without that disgust, what was to keep him at arm’s length?
He groped for the once-held belief that she was evil.
He snorted and sank down onto the bed, dragging his hands through his hair. Hell, he didn’t believe that anymore. He couldn’t. And that was the problem.
He was finding it harder and harder to reconcile the Tresa of lore to the one before him. She honestly seemed to care about stopping this killer… stopping Balthazar.
But she had started the curse. All of this. She was responsible for so much misery.
He couldn’t forget that. He wouldn’t.
The door to the bathroom opened and she stepped out, looking sexy and smelling fresh, her scent heady and intoxicating. He closed his eyes in a pained blink, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.
He opened his eyes and struggled for indifference, cloaking it around himself as his gaze skimmed her slim legs encased in tight black leggings and knee-high heeled boots. She wore a soft-looking snug gray tunic sweater that subtly molded her curves and begged for his hand to caress.
She quickly attached a pair of shimmery earrings to her earlobes. Her gaze flicked to him, and then away. It was the most she had looked at him since she’d returned from her walk. “Ready?” she murmured.
“Yeah.” And yet he didn’t move. He simply stared at her, his mind whirling with the knowledge that he didn’t want to go anywhere. He wanted to stay here—in this room with her. Kissing her again. And again. Stripping that soft-looking sweater off her. Laying her on the bed. Covering her lithe body with his own. His body pulsed with hunger, need pumping through him in a way he had never experienced.
She fidgeted beneath his intent stare and glanced down at herself. “What? Do I look okay?”
He devoured every delicious inch with his eyes before forcing his gaze away. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Not inconspicuous, but…”
“Was I supposed to be inconspicuous?” she asked sharply, her eyes glinting defensively. “I thought we wanted people to talk to us?”
He looked her over. “Oh, they’ll definitely want to talk to you. At least the guys will. But we’re looking for a female.”
Faint colored stained her cheeks. “Well. We have you for them, don’t we?” She moved for the door with stiff, angry movements. “Let’s get this over with.”
He followed her, hearing what she wasn’t saying. Let’s get this over with so we can end this and never have to see each other again.
Only he couldn’t imagine that happening. Not now that he’d met her. Liked her.
He wasn’t ready to let her go.
* * *
THE HOUSE WAS PACKED to the seams when they arrived. Tresa was sure they were breaking every fire code with the hundred-plus twenty-year-olds crammed inside. Heavy bass pumped in the air, vibrating the floor beneath her feet. Beer sloshed in red plastic cups as they squeezed through the throng.
Darius led the way, one hand clamped tightly around her wrist. She was glad for that. She didn’t want to lose him in this throng, and his grip was less intimate than if his fingers were laced with her own.
He moved with purpose, so she assumed he knew where he was going. They stopped in the dining area. The dining table was pushed to the side, along the wall, and littered with giant plastic bowls of chips and pretzels.
Several kegs of beer stood beside the table, surrounded by preppy-looking guys in button-down shirts. They looked Darius over appraisingly, puffing out their chests as if preparing to battle for territory.
“Darius!” a voice screeched over the din.
Erin bounced toward them, beer sloshing over the rim of her cup. “You made it!”
She hugged him, pressing against him breasts that looked dangerously close to spilling free from her slinky, glittery tank top.
Tresa watched them embrace, hands at her sides, acutely uncomfortable. Erin stood on her tiptoes and whispered something in Darius’s ear. Heat crawled up Tresa’s neck as she stood by in silence, ignored.
The guys guarding the keg eyed her up and down, making her feel like a piece of meat. One said something behind his hand and the others laughed. The heat in her face grew and suddenly she felt intensely claustrophobic. She wasn’t accustomed to this. She lived in isolation, her only company howling winds. Her skin tingled with a thousand needle pricks. The faces around her began to blur together. This was a terrible idea.
Erin’s gaze locked on Tresa. She gave her a brief nod, her expression superior, confident as she wrapped an arm around Darius’s waist. Erin said something and Darius lowered his head to hear her over the din. She took advantage of the opportunity and touched his face, her hands lightly stroking his jaw.
Tresa stomach revolted. Then someone bumped her roughly as they squeezed past. She had to get out of here.
Turning, she pushed through the press of bodies. Impossible as it seemed, the house was even more crowded now.
“Hey there, Tresa.” Carson was suddenly there, grinning in welcome. “Glad you could make it.” He spread his arms widely. “Mi casa es su casa.”
“Hey,” Tresa greeted him over the noise, her gaze darting nervously as people continued bumping into her. She stuck out her elbows, trying to make space for herself amid the sea of bodies.
“Where you going?” he called out over the volume.
“I need some air.”
She looked around, catching no sight of Darius. Though he was taller than most guys here, she couldn’t see him anymore. The image of Erin flashed through her mind. She was probably dragging him into a bedroom upstairs for a quickie. The blood rushed to her face at the sudden image of them together, going at it in a fever of sex.
Maybe that kiss earlier had whetted his appetite and he would slake his unanswered desires on Erin.
“Come on. I’ll help you.” Carson’s hand closed over hers and soon he was zigzagging them through the crowd.
She kept her head low and followed, glad to know she’d be free of this suffocating press of people soon. In the back of her mind she wondered how she was supposed to gather information about any of the victims when she couldn’t even abide being here.
They cleared a set of double doors and stepped out into the mild night. Voices and music throbbed behind her. She moved ahead of Carson, walking several feet out into the yard, craving distance from the jumble of humanity. She stopped beside a large oak, gripping the rough bark as if it were a lifeline.
“You okay?” Carson’s hand settled on her back. His face was close, etched in concern.
“Fine.” She gulped a clean breath. “I don’t do crowds.”
He smiled in sympathy. “Then why did you come here?”
“Guess it didn’t occur to me that it would be quite this crowded.”
He angled his head. “It’s a party. More than that, it’s Jason Morris’s final hurrah. Everyone’s got to show up to say farewell to that dickhead.” A sneer entered his voice. “Funny how in death you become such a saint.”
Her attention focused sharply. “Why was he a dickhead?”
“He was a player. He’d do anything to get into a girl’s pants, and then he’d trash-talk her afterward. The guy destroyed lives but it never hurt his rep. Girls kept falling for him.”
Like Balthazar’s witch? Is that what had happened? Had he used her and cast her aside afterward? It seemed plausible. But what about the female victims? What could they have done to get on her bad side?
“Shannan Guzak and the other girls. Did Jason ever trash-talk them?”
He snorted. “Doubtful. Those were regular hookups. He didn’t piss them off. They k
ept coming back for more. I saw Shannan leave Jason’s room the night before she died.”
Tresa nodded, processing this. The female victims had all slept with Jason Morris. He was the connection. Maybe one of his hookups had been Balthazar’s witch. But if Carson was to be believed, the list of candidates was long.
“Hey.” His hand rubbed small circles against her back. “You okay? You’re not having one of your visions, are you?” He brushed the hair back from her face and she was suddenly aware of just how alone they were. The party was in full swing in the well-lit house several feet away, but they stood in dark shadows.
She laughed weakly, uncomfortable with his closeness. “No. I’m not.”
“So.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “My little psychic—can you see the future? Are you and I going to become good friends?”
She stepped clear of his hand, not liking where this was headed. “Look. I need to find Darius.”
“Thought you two weren’t together.”
“We’re not.”
“Then what’s your hurry? He’s probably having a good time with Erin.” He closed the distance between them again. “And I thought you didn’t like it in there, anyway. Why not stay out here with me where it’s nice and quiet?” His fingers grazed her face again. “I like talking to you… hearing your voice.”
She grasped Carson’s hand and tried to pull it from her cheek, but he resisted. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong kind of idea—”
“How can I be around you and not get the wrong kind of idea?” He released a gust of alcohol-laden breath. “You’re just so fucking hot.” He unexpectedly pressed his mouth over hers in a moist, clumsy kiss. She gagged at the slimy sensation of his tongue pushing inside her mouth.
She shoved against his chest, ready to push him back, but she didn’t get the chance.
He was suddenly flying through the air, landing on his back several yards away with a loud grunt. Darius stood there, legs braced wide, chest heaving, as he looked down at Carson. The boy moaned, rolling on his side.
She made a move toward Carson. “Did you hurt him?” She wanted to say, Did you kill him?—but caught herself.
A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) Page 11