by Eileen Wilks
“Kate,” he said in a tone of voice that was both amused and stern. “I’m a strange man and clearly dangerous. Should you be this close to me while I undress?”
“You kill ventala. There’s not a single door in the house that you couldn’t come through if you wanted to. Actually, you probably could have kicked open the back door, too.”
He smiled, which turned his handsome face glorious. Things low in her belly tightened, and she fought not to reach for him. Her fingers wanted to touch. Her mouth wanted to taste. Was his overwhelming appeal magical? If not ventala, could he be a male descendant of the muses?
“I assume that smile means you realized you could’ve broken the door open,” she said.
“I did.”
“Were you tempted to force your way in?”
“A little,” he admitted. “It’s very cold out there.”
“And yet you restrained yourself. Well done.”
He raised his brows. “You suspect it was a struggle for me?”
“I honestly don’t know.” In her nightmares, despite the blade against her throat, he didn’t try to reason with his enemy, didn’t try to get her out from between them. He lunged into battle, oblivious to whether she would be injured. That thought sobered her. She turned, holding her hand out to the side. “Give me your clothes. I’ll take care of them for you.”
A moment later, she had them, such as they were. She exited without looking back and heard the water jets as she closed the door.
At the washing machine, she glanced over his clothes. No underwear? And what was with the uneven stitching? Were they hand-sewn? There were no care tags inside, and the fabric was rough. She pictured him buying them at a bazaar in a third-world country. Maybe he had been a soldier. Perhaps stationed in the Middle East? But that didn’t explain why he wasn’t dressed for Colorado weather now.
In the kitchen, she warmed corn chowder and toasted thick slices of buttered French bread in the oven. In between preparing lunch, she checked the Boulder Police Department’s online blotter. The only local missing person report was of an elderly woman who’d wandered away from a nursing home.
After she fed him, Kate would drive her mystery guest to the police department to start the formal process of finding out who he was.
“Kate,” he said, rushing into the room with a towel barely fastened around his hips. Muscles deep inside her contracted. Wet and nearly naked, he looked ... edible.
Then he flashed a smile, and his sudden exuberance was like champagne and strawberries, intoxicating her, curving her lips into a smile.
“Kate,” he repeated, tapping the counter with his palm.
“Yes?”
“What part of the Roman Empire is this?”
She raised her brows and set her spatula on the stove. “No part. There is no Roman Empire anymore.”
“Defeated? How long ago?”
“Around fifteen hundred years ago.”
“That long,” he mused, taking a step back. “Apparently I’m very good at what I do.”
“And what is that?”
Triumphant as a conquering hero, he grinned. “I’m a time traveler.”
Chapter Three
“There’s nothing as satisfying as breaking the law,” Tamberi said, smirking.
Her brother, Cato, laughed in agreement.
Dark as a womb, the deep, damp cave sheltered bats, rats, and a delicious secret. It was about to become a vortex of forbidden magic.
“Don’t go outside the lines,” Tamberi said crossly.
“What are we? Five?” Cato asked, rolling his eyes.
“You paint like you’re five,” she said, dipping her brush into the small bowl of blood. She pressed the black bristles against the side of the bowl, allowing the excess to run down into the crimson pool.
“I get to lick both bowls when we’re done,” Cato said. A few drops fell from his brush onto his arm.
“Speaking of which, for fuck’s sake, don’t waste it,” Tamberi snapped. She bent her head and snaked her tongue over his arm, licking away the savory spots. He grinned and leaned forward, nipping her bare neck with his fangs. Tamberi’s black hair was buzzed to about an inch long, which should’ve made her look as repulsive as an army recruit, but Cato found her sexy as hell.
“There,” she said, dabbing in a last spot on the inverted pentagram. She smirked and caressed the head of one of the shackled virgins. She backed away to get the full effect. A small mat on the floor had been covered with purple velvet. The human sacrifices were arranged in a V formation with the pentagram forming the third side of a triangle into which they would welcome the demon Gadreel. Tamberi couldn’t wait to see him in the flesh. She’d done a ritual to commune with a demon and had been communicating with Gadreel through her dreams ever since. He was an incredibly powerful presence in her unconscious world, but she was sure that her dreams of him would pale in comparison to what he was like when alive.
Large tears rolled down the bound girl’s round cheeks.
“What?” Tamberi demanded. “You see where all that ‘saving yourself’ got you? You couldn’t have been a virgin sacrifice if you hadn’t been a virgin.”
Cato snorted with laughter. “Did the demon really specify virgin sacrifices? Or did you want to use virgins because they piss you off?”
Tamberi ran a hand over the bound boy’s hairless chest. “Gadreel likes them innocent.”
“Speaking of what he likes, you sure he won’t mind me being here for the raising ritual?”
“Why should he care? Two sacrifices means twice the power. And I want you here.” She stretched and cracked her neck. “All those muses getting ready for their Christmas party, they have no idea what they’re in for. This year I’m not raising some pathetic minor demon that Merrick could slay without breaking a sweat. This year, if the beautiful enforcer decides to crash the party, Gadreel will dine on his heart and pick his teeth afterward with Merrick’s finger bones.”
Cato sighed. He hadn’t known that Tamberi had been the one who’d raised the demon in 2007. Before the ventala syndicate had sent Merrick to deal with it, that monster had killed four people in the Varden, including Cato’s friend Davy Roma.
“And Gadreel’s smart,” she added. “He’s not going to cause trouble in the Varden, so Dad won’t even call Merrick. What happened in’07 is what I get for trying to avoid using a human sacrifice. Minor demons are like rabid dogs. Can’t control them once they’re raised.”
“Fuck, Beri, Davy used to be part of my Friday night game. You know Lou can’t play Texas Hold ’Em for shit.”
“Yeah, sorry. I cracked a few eggs making that omelet, but this time is going to rock. After Gadreel gets his ring of power, those prissy pricks from Etherlin Security are going to have a slaughter shoved down their throat.”
Kate’s startled laughter echoed off the walls. “Time traveler. That would be the story of a lifetime,” she said. Faced with his warm, magnetic presence and the smell of soap and male skin, her body registered its strong inclination to do more than photograph him for a story. “I guess your DeLorean is buried under a snow drift. Why don’t you sit and tell me why you think you’ve been traveling through time?”
He sat on a barstool at the counter, and she set soup and toast in front of him.
“I remember living in Rome. This,” he said, holding up his fist and pointing to the ring, “is Nero. Claudius adopted him and made him his heir. Claudius built things. Nero burned them down.” He chewed slowly. “This tastes extremely good, Kate. Do you have any figs?”
“Figs?” she said with a smile. “It’s the middle of winter in Colorado. Sorry, no figs.”
“I remember that I like them.” He swallowed several spoonfuls of soup. “In Rome, I had a family. I can’t remember many details, but something terrible happened to them. It was Nero’s fault, but not his fault alone. I don’t know why it’s important to me after all these years, but I need to remember those details. I want the name of the man wh
o hurt my family.”
“I would, too.” Her pulse thrummed excitedly; evidence of time travel had never been documented. If this were real . . . No, it was just as likely—probably more likely—that he’d read books or seen movies that his mind was trying to incorporate as his own memories. But he did seem foreign, his clothes were old and crudely made, and he’d appeared from out of nowhere. Not to mention his antiquated ideas about gender roles. If he did really turn out to be from the past, she would have to make more allowances for him.
He finished his lunch and licked the excess butter from his thumb. “Thank you, Kate, for your hospitality.”
“Sure.” Figs, Kate thought, suddenly recalling the chocolate-covered figs she’d ordered from a chocolatier in Seattle. It had been a whim that she hadn’t understood at the time. Now it made her shiver. How exactly was she connected to this bronze Adonis?
She walked to the cupboard and took down the dark brown box and tugged away the gold ribbon. She set the confection on a dish and brought it to him.
He licked the dark chocolate coating and swallowed thoughtfully.
“There’s a fig inside,” she said.
He picked it up and popped the entire thing in his mouth. He chewed while she admired his square jaw. When he swallowed, he nodded. “I think I prefer them fresh, but that tasted good as well. Thank you.”
“Your clothes will be dry soon, but you really need a coat. My brother forgot a sweatshirt when he was here last, but I don’t have any other men’s clothing.”
“It’s no problem,” he said, then grimaced, bowing forward.
“What’s wrong?”
He let out a hiss of pain. “My back hurts.”
She moved behind him and found streaks of fiery red crisscrossing his back. What the hell? Anger surged as she wondered if the marks were from an assault. She hated the idea of anyone hurting him . . . or even touching him. Then she paused and shook her head. You just met this man, she reminded herself, but she couldn’t seem to keep that in focus. The intensity of their closeness in some of her dreams kept surfacing. She felt like she already had a long history with him. So surreal.
“Your back looks really inflamed. How hot did you have the water during your shower?”
He twisted from side to side. “Not very hot, but my back burns like someone touched a flame to it. And underneath the skin, my muscles feel as though they’re being twisted around a sword hilt, sometimes nicking the blade itself.”
“I can’t tell if these are burns or a rash or contused skin from an injury. We should go to a hospital, so they can run some tests.”
“No.”
“Yes. Pain means there’s a problem. We have no idea how you ended up in the snow. Maybe you were assaulted. There could be internal damage and bleeding.”
He twisted and stretched. She watched his muscles bunch and contract. No bones jutted out of place or gave an indication of serious injury.
“I’m not badly hurt,” he said. “I feel certain of that.”
“Okay,” she said, but continued to scrutinize him.
He does look all right. Better than all right actually.
She admired his broad shoulders and the slope of his muscles as they tapered to his waist. From her dreams she knew the feel of him; his body was like stone wrapped in velvet.
Her fingers reached out, unable to resist any longer. Before her fingertips could stroke his skin, he turned as if sensing she was about to touch him. Their eyes locked, the air suddenly charged.
“What are you doing, Kate?” he asked, his voice low and sexy.
She looked at her outstretched hand and licked her lips. His full attention centered on her, making her heart pound. She basked in the heat that radiated from him, and, after a moment’s hesitation, she swallowed. “You said you aren’t badly hurt. I wanted to check for myself.” The moment stretched as they watched each other.
“How would you . . . check?” he murmured, his lids lowering as he focused on her lips. She could only see alluring glimpses of hazel through his dark lashes. Mesmerized, a slow burn warmed her deep inside.
“I’d just . . .” She trailed off as she walked around him. The smooth skin invited her touch. She laid a palm against him, the satin heat enticing her. His muscles tightened, and he looked over his shoulder at her, his breath slightly ragged. She recognized the raw hunger in his gaze.
I know that look.
Her lids drifted closed, and she spiraled down into the mountain-ridge dream.
The fading light curved around him as an amber halo. Her body was stretched naked over a mattress covered in soft cotton sheets.
She arched up as he bent his head and captured her nipple. Under his mouth and teasing teeth, the torture was exquisite. She writhed, restless for more.
He pushed her legs apart. She lay open for him, her need tight as a bowstring fully stretched. When he raised his head, his smile was purely male, a warrior laying claim to the spoils of war, instincts as old as time driving them both. He stroked her, stoking an internal fire. She couldn’t catch her breath, and her legs spread wider, inviting a deeper touch.
Powerful fingers thrust inside her, her body clenching, throbbing, seeking.
Please, she moaned. And then she gripped his shoulders as he moved above her, his voice a low rumble in her ear as he slid inside her moist heat, stretching and filling her. She sank her nails into his flesh.
“Yes, Kate, hold on tight while I take you. You’re mine,” he said in a ruthless rasp, deep with lust. “Your flesh will know the full measure of my love even if you’re sore for days.”
She screamed in orgasm in the dream and shuddered in orgasm in real life.
Wracked with sensations more incredible than any she’d felt with a real lover, she trembled. Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him, breathlessly. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils dilated. The front of his towel tented forward.
He felt that, too. Whatever is between us, it’s mutual.
She sucked in air, her hands shaky, her skin tingling, her womb throbbing. At the moment, he looked so beautiful to her. The overhead light fractured around him in an echo of the sunset gilding him on the dream mountain.
You do something to me. Just by existing.
Her hand drifted toward his chest. “I—”
He stepped back stiffly, clearing his throat. “I think I’ll stand under the cool water awhile longer, Kate. It would make my back feel better.”
“Right,” she whispered. “A cold shower for your . . . back.”
His smile was rueful and shy and sweet enough to make her heart creak.
“Something like that,” he murmured. His hand touched her cheek so briefly it was only the ghost of a caress, but it was still powerful enough to implore her to step toward him. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as if the struggle within him was intense.
“I’d better go,” he said, then turned and with that long and powerful stride, escaped into the bathroom.
Body still thrumming with unsatisfied cravings, she thought, His willpower is stronger than mine.
She pictured him standing naked in the shower and knew it would take all her will just to keep herself from joining him there.
The doorbell startled Kate. She wasn’t expecting company. It’s probably a holiday package, she thought, but when she opened the door, she found a group of uniformed men. A sheriff and three deputies armed with shotguns.
“Hello, ma’am. May we come in?”
A trickle of unease dripped down her spine. Why had they come to the door with their weapons in hand?
“What’s this about?”
“We’re tracking a fugitive. The trail led here.”
“A fugitive, you say? What’s he wanted for?” Her heart thumped more quickly, her eyes studying their faces. Their eager expressions didn’t put her at ease.
“He? I didn’t mention it was a he,” the sheriff said, looking past her. They pressed forward.
“Most fugitives are men,�
�� she said.
“Is he inside?” the sheriff demanded.
“Sure, he’s inside,” one of the deputies said with an angry sneer, and she spotted the tips of his fangs.
“Oh!” she said, backpedaling into the house. She swung the door, but one of them grabbed it and shoved it open. They pushed forward, spinning her and cuffing her hands behind her back.
Her outrage spilled out as curses, but they didn’t break their stride. They shoved her onto the couch and told her to stay there.
“The disguises don’t fool me. I know you’re ventala.”
“The show wasn’t for you. It was for your neighbors,” one said as he hurried to the back of the house and opened the deck door. More men spilled in, and she gasped.
“Get out of my house!” she yelled as they started checking rooms and some rushed upstairs. They kicked in the guest room door where her visitor had just been showering.
“Katherine Devane,” the fake sheriff said, looking inside her wallet. “I know who you are. You’re an aspirant. You wrote the story about the vampire nest in South Dakota and got them all killed.”
She ignored the sheriff and held her breath, listening for sounds from the guest room. Had they found Bronze? Overpowered him?
A group of ventala pounded down the stairs. “Upstairs is clear.”
“There was an open window in the downstairs bedroom. He must have climbed out.”
“Outside then. Fast!” The sheriff turned to her. “Did he have his memory, Kate?”
She pursed her lips and glared at the fake sheriff. He grabbed her arms and squeezed them. “Where did he go? Tell me right now.”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
He backhanded her across the face. Her head snapped back from the blow, and she fell against the cushions.
“Here’s the thing. You will tell me what I want to know eventually. You can do it after being beaten bloody or before. It’s your choice.”
Her cheek flamed, and she didn’t doubt the sincerity of his threat.