by Moira Rogers
“And if you stayed?” She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Could you be happy here? There’s always danger this close to the border, but this town doesn’t need a bloodhound. It needs a leader.”
Only a week earlier, he would have scoffed at the notion that anyone could need him, much less a whole town. He wasn’t cut out to be an upstanding citizen, much less a leader. At least, he hadn’t been.
The Guild had pulled him from his deathbed, given him a second chance at life. He hadn’t used that chance very well, especially not compared to Grace. “You walked away from the parts of yourself you didn’t like,” he murmured. “You came here, and you became the person you wanted to be. I want to do that too.”
Grace’s brilliant smile shone brighter than the stars as she dragged his head down and kissed him.
Chapter Twelve
Grace started awake at the first loud knock against her bedroom door, but was still blinking sleepily when it swung open and Diana stormed in.
“Shit,” she hissed. “Archer, get up. Your boss is here.”
He groaned and rolled over. “My what is what?”
“Your boss.” The thundering voice came from beyond Diana, from a tall, dark man who glowered at them over her shoulder.
Archer made sure Grace was covered, moving lazily in spite of the tension she could feel in him. “Wilder Harding. You’re late to the party.”
“Story of my life.” He slanted a glance at Diana and shook his head. “What the hell’s going on here?”
As if Grace wasn’t self-conscious enough, a second man edged through the door, took one look at the blanket that was the only thing preserving her modesty, and turned abruptly to stare at the opposite wall. “Wilder, I’m sure we can wait downstairs. Archer knows you’re here now, and I doubt he’s planning to crawl out the window to avoid speaking with you.”
“Not going to crawl out any windows, but I might kick his ass,” Archer snarled through a challenging grin.
Wilder thumped the brim of his hat higher and pointed at Archer’s clothes, draped across a chair by the bed. “Downstairs. Two minutes.” Then he stormed out.
Diana rolled her eyes and turned to follow, but smacked into the second man. “Sorry, you go ahead.”
He gripped the door and shook his head. “No, after you, Miss…”
Grace found her voice. “Diana. And if it’s not too much trouble, could the two of you take care of your introductions in the hallway?” She gave Diana a pleading look. “With the door closed?”
“Got it.” She grabbed the man by the arm, shoved him ahead of her into the hallway and slammed the door behind them.
Grace collapsed back against the bed and covered her face. One thing stood out about the way the man—Wilder Harding—had studied Diana. “You didn’t tell them about her, did you?”
Archer dragged on his trousers and reached for his shirt. “Figured it could wait. Oops.”
“He seemed irritated.” She pushed the blanket back and stared down at her battered body. None of the cuts had been severe, but her legs and torso were a patchwork quilt of bruises in blues and purples. She jerked the covers back up before Archer could catch sight of them in the daylight and get distracted. “Who was the man with him? Another bloodhound?”
“No, that was Nate. Nate’s…complicated.” He sat down to pull on his boots. “I know Wilder seems upset, but there’s a good reason for it. He’ll calm down once I explain.”
Shifting to the edge of the bed, Grace pressed a kiss to the back of his neck before reaching past him for her chemise. “Can I come with you? Or will that make it worse?”
He caught her hand and spilled her around to his lap. “Anything he has to say to me is your business too.”
She laughed and brushed a kiss on his chin. “I should probably get dressed first. For everyone’s sake.”
“Mmm, and if you take your time, you can miss most of the yelling.” He eased her to the bed and began buttoning his shirt as he walked out the door.
It seemed like a joke, but when she hurried down the stairs in her hastily donned dress, still struggling to wrestle her hair into a braid, she heard Wilder’s raised voice before she reached the dining room.
“And when I tell you to keep in touch, I mean keep in touch.”
“I sent what news I could before the telegraph lines were cut,” Archer replied mildly.
“And her? You failed to mention—”
“Diana. That’s my name.” Grace came into the dining room in time to see her friend’s spine stiffen. “And I asked him not to send word about me.”
The quieter man spoke up, addressing Wilder. “I’m just as glad he didn’t say anything over an unsecured telegraph line. A female bloodhound could cause too much excitement in all the wrong quarters.”
“Don’t be reasonable with me, Nate,” he snapped. “I’m not in the mood.”
Nate’s gaze swept over Diana before settling on Grace, and the inhuman blankness in his eyes struck her low in the gut as a twisting warning. Whatever this man was, he wasn’t entirely human.
No one in the room was human. No one except for her, and she had the feeling Nate, at least, thought she shouldn’t be standing among them.
He confirmed it a moment later by clearing his throat. “Perhaps this is a discussion best held in private.”
Archer snarled again and stepped between them. “She stays. Whatever you have to say or ask, Grace is a part of this.”
Wilder sighed heavily. “Just start at the beginning. What did you find?”
“Long story short?” Archer asked. “Ephraim Phillips.”
The two men reacted with almost comical shock, and Grace moved to stand at Archer’s side. “The vampires were looking for a powder he’d invented. A blood substitute that they thought would make them more human.”
Nate took three quick steps toward her before jerking to a stop with a wary look at Archer. “A blood substitute? Did you find it?”
Archer pulled her close. “Diana can show him the journals and formulas.”
Diana didn’t look amused about being excluded from the conversation, but Grace gave her a silently pleading look, and her friend capitulated with a softening of her frown and a quick nod. “Come with me.”
When they were gone, Grace slipped her fingers around Archer’s. Another silent gesture, but this time she needed words too. Just the four that counted most, spoken in a whisper as she squeezed his hand. “I still choose you.” Whatever happens.
“I know.” Archer took a deep breath. “I’m not going back to Iron Creek, Harding, and if you sit down for a minute, I’ll tell you why.”
Wilder opened his mouth, then glanced between the two of them a few times before sweeping his hat off his head and dropping to a chair. “All right, I’m listening.”
“All right, I’m talking.” Archer guided Grace to a chair as well, but remained standing. “I’m through with the Guild. I should have already walked. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
Wilder leaned forward. “If this has to do with that mess out in the Deadlands—that shit with Lowe—”
“It does, but not how you think.” Archer turned away until Grace could only see his profile, stark and rigid. “The Guild played it off like I was undercover and went rogue, but I didn’t. I was on the level with them, Harding, from start to finish.”
Wilder’s silence had a weight to it, a heavy, expectant pressure. “About what you had to do, right?”
“About everything.” He turned to face them, his words just as much for her as for the senior bloodhound. “Turning Hunter—that was an accident. No one meant for it to happen, but it pleased Lowe. Gave him other ideas.”
“About Nate,” Wilder said.
Archer hesitated, clearly having to force out his next words. “I got a message to my handler in Sacramento. Two weeks before Lowe went after Nate.”
Grace reached for Archer’s hands, closing her own around them. “I don’t understand. Who’s Lowe?”
“A vampire, good and dead now.” He met her gaze, his eyes full of regret. “The Guild sent me to work for him. My cover was simple—I was a rogue hound, a criminal who’d sold out the Guild for money. But it all went too far. Nate—the man upstairs with Diana—got caught up in that. I sent word in plenty of time for the Guild to keep him safe, but—”
“They did nothing,” Wilder cut in. “Why the hell would they sit by and let a vampire kidnap one of their best inventors?”
Archer flinched. “When I asked later, my handler insinuated that it was convenient. A way for the Guild to be rid of Nate without getting their hands dirty.”
Wilder shot out of his chair, swearing. “Those sons of bitches had the gall to act scandalized by your—what did they call it? Your defection.”
No wonder Archer hated the Guild. They both had to live with the things they’d done, but he’d had to live with the betrayal as well as the guilt.
And then they’d sent him on a hopeless mission into enemy territory. How many times in the past week had their fragile plans rested on Diana’s secret presence? Every victory, every success, they all circled back to the fact that Crystal Springs had two bloodhounds where the enemy had expected one.
The Guild had expected one too. “They didn’t send you to Crystal Springs to clean up the town,” she whispered, certainty a hollow ache in her chest. How many times had she watched ruthless criminals take care of a loose end with a too-dangerous mission? “They sent you here to clean up their own mess.”
He grinned, defiant. Feral. “Their mistake. But if they want to be rid of me, I’m more than ready to make that happen.”
“I’m not,” Wilder retorted. “We need you, Archer.”
“No, you don’t.” He shook his head. “You need a hound who’s ready to fight, not one worn down by all the politics and scheming.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to Grace’s temple. “Forgive me, love, but they need Diana.”
Grace began to protest, only to have the objection hang in her throat. Her first instinct was to protect her friend, but it was a selfish instinct, rooted in her desire to keep her friend close, to keep her safe—
“It’s lonely, not knowing anyone else like you.”
Diana’s words, spoken the first morning after Archer’s arrival. The world had so much more to offer Diana than one small town struggling to get by. People who’d understand her and could teach her about living as a bloodhound. “If they offer her a place, I think she might take it.”
Wilder leaned over to brace his hands on the table, his brow furrowed in a frown. “The Guild can’t know about her.”
“That’d be safest,” Archer agreed.
“And you’re determined to stay here?”
“You couldn’t drag me away, Harding.”
“No, I guess not.” Wilder straightened with a look at Grace. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order, Miss…?”
“Linwood.” She didn’t try to hide behind demure smiles or feigned innocence as she extended her hand. She just smiled up at Archer with all the hope and joy in her heart. “I’m the schoolteacher.”
“The schoolteacher, huh?” Wilder shook her hand with a look of vague but fond exasperation. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing, Miss Linwood.”
“Turning over a new leaf, Mr. Harding.” She released his hand and clasped Archer’s again. “I need someone around to keep the young men in line. You should listen to one of Archer’s lectures on proper grenade safety. He’s very inspiring.”
“He should be. He does love explosives.”
“Loved,” Archer corrected, pulling Grace to her feet. “I’m figuring out there are better things in life.”
“All sorts of them.” The ache in her leg faded to nothing as she lifted herself up to wrap her arms around his neck. “I’ll keep you busy.”
He brushed a kiss over her forehead, then dropped his mouth to hover over hers. “Wilder?”
“Already leaving,” the other man muttered. “Find me…later.”
A door slammed shut, and Grace laughed. “That was terribly rude. I guess I’m not much of a lady after all.”
“Wilder doesn’t care much for ladies. Most bloodhounds don’t.” Archer kissed her softly. “Suppose that makes me the exception.”
“I should hope so. By the time Cecil’s done with you, you might just be mayor of Crystal Springs. Sheriff, at the very least. You’ll need a mostly respectable woman.”
He hummed and nipped at her chin before pulling back to give her a serious look. “You asked me once if I believed in redemption.”
She wasn’t likely to forget that tense moment in the hallway when he’d smiled and she’d remembered what it felt like to crave a man. “You said you didn’t.”
“I changed my mind,” he whispered. “You make me believe.”
Her heart soared as she framed his face with her hands. “Welcome to your second chance, Archer.”
About the Author
How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing student obsessed with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a passion for gritty urban fantasy. To learn more about this romance-writing, crime-fighting duo, visit their webpage at www.moirarogers.com, or drop them an email at [email protected]. (Disclaimer: crime-fighting abilities may appear only in the aforementioned fevered imaginations.)
Look for these titles by Moira Rogers
Now Available:
Red Rock Pass
Cry Sanctuary
Sanctuary Lost
Sanctuary’s Price
Sanctuary Unbound
Southern Arcana
Crux
Crossroads
Deadlock
Cipher
Building Sanctuary
A Safe Harbor
Undertow
…and the Beast
Sabine
Kisri
Children of the Undying
Demon Bait
Hammer Down
Bloodhounds
Wilder’s Mate
Hunter’s Prey
Coming Soon:
Southern Arcana
Impulse
Enigma
He can’t fight his inner beast, but she can tame it.
Hunter’s Prey
© 2012 Moira Rogers
Bloodhounds, Book 2
Ophelia retired from life as a prostitute, but her new position is even more complicated. Managing the bloodhound manor in Iron Creek is difficult and time-consuming, a job she enjoys less with each passing day. Then there’s her inconvenient attraction to Hunter. The newly turned hound seems eager to enjoy her company, but wary of anything more intimate.
Having survived the violence of his first full moon out of a cage, Hunter isn’t looking forward to his first new moon. Ophelia offers to be the woman who sates his needs during the three long days of sexual fury, but he can’t abide the thought of hurting her in a state of mindless lust. Especially since she longs to settle into a respectable life, and his needs are anything but respectable.
Their mutual goal is simple: avoid entanglements. It’s a solid plan, at least until a vampire drug lord and a couple of nosy Guild representatives force them to work together to defend their friends and everything they hold dear—including each other.
Warning: Contains a mostly feral, vampire-hunting hero and a tough survivor of a heroine whose retired-hooker heart is more steel than gold. Also included: dangerous frontier intrigue, fancy brothels, mad-scientist weapons and a good dose of wicked loving in an alternate Wild West.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Hunter’s Prey:
She laid her hand against the bathroom door, then knocked softly. “Hunter? It’s me.”
The sound of pacing footsteps gave way to harsh breaths, each one a seeming effort. “Ophelia?”
She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the wood. “Open the door, honey.”
Something thumped against the wall to her ri
ght. A fist, maybe, or Hunter’s body. His snarl was low and rough. “I don’t want her. I won’t take her.”
“She’s gone. It’s just us now.”
Hesitation. She could almost taste his suspicion in the heavy silence between them. Then the lock clicked and the door edged open, revealing a glimpse of his bare chest and wild hair hanging over stormy blue eyes. “Just us?”
She could give him words, gentle and reassuring. Instead, she reached through the open door and trailed her hand down the center of his chest. “Come out, Hunter.”
The door vanished, thrown open with such force it bounced against the inside wall. But he was already there, falling on her like a bird streaking from the sky. He gripped the back of her neck, his fingers digging into her hair as he forced her body over his other arm in a vulnerable arc.
For an endless moment he only stared at her, breath whistling through his teeth as the heat of him wrapped around her. “Say yes.” Not a command. A shaking plea.
It didn’t matter that she already had. All that mattered was this moment, and him knowing he wasn’t demanding something she didn’t want to give. “Yes.”
He swallowed the word with a rough kiss that laid claim to more than her body, and for more than the new moon. His teeth closed on her lip with a growl, only to be replaced by his tongue, stroking in an imperious demand for entry.
She opened her mouth with a shudder, her head spinning. It was only a kiss, full of more hunger than skill, but her body responded with a shaky need she hadn’t anticipated.
That was when she knew. Hunter had been lying to himself, but so had she.
Her ready obedience seemed to soothe some of his madness. The fist in her hair relaxed enough to cradle the back of her head, and he eased her closer, until her body was pressed tight to his chest.
But the kiss went on and on, the kiss of a starving man grasping at sustenance he’d denied himself too long. She smoothed her fingers through his hair and down to his shoulders, testing the strength beneath his heated skin.