A Fall of Silver (The Redemption Series)

by Amy Corwin

  Her body quivered in response. Desire curled within her belly and pooled between her thighs.

  “Don’t trust me,” she replied, her voice thready and quivering with raw emotion. “Don’t—”

  Before she could warn him, he covered her mouth with his. He pressed into her, his arms enveloping her with heat. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the scent of his skin. A frenzy of desperation made her deepen their kiss, wanting to touch and taste every inch of him, an overwhelming sensation of rightness gripping her.

  Her hands twisted under his arms and grabbed the back of his shirt. She tightened her hold as the tension within her exploded. She curled around the hard strength of his body, her hunger matching his as she brought her legs up to encircle his waist. When his lips caressed her jaw and neck, she grabbed his hair and yanked his head up, fastening her lips on his, yearning for the taste of his mouth.

  Vaguely aware of his movements, she felt the long muscles in his thighs bunch. He was climbing the stairs. She clamped her legs more tightly around his waist, ankles locked at the base of his spine. He moved effortlessly, one hand entangled in her hair, the other undoing buttons—hers—his—it didn’t matter.

  His hand brushed through her hair to the nape of her neck, touching a hard area of numbness at the base of her skull. Then his fingers moved past to cup her chin, and the dead sensation vanished.

  He kicked open the door to his room. It slammed into the doorstop. Then he untangled her ankles and threw her onto the bed. Laughing, her blood effervescent with excitement, she bounced to her knees and yanked off her clothing, watching him do the same. Then he stood at the foot of the bed, his body larger and harder than she expected and the white scar prominent on his chest.

  “It’s been a long time,” he groaned, pushing her shoulders back.

  A high-pitched half-laugh broke from her throat. The sound crackled through the room, revealing her tension and near-panic at the thought of messing up, of doing something wrong.

  Stop! Don’t be crazy. Her heart clenched. I can’t—but I need this—I need him! Just this once.

  Once.

  “Come here.”

  “You come here.” When she fell against the mattress, he grabbed her ankles and pulled her forward until her legs dangled off the bed on either side of him. His hands ran up her thighs before he bent. Her eyes closed. All she wanted to do was feel.

  He nuzzled her, his tongue making her cry with need. Her toes curled as she braced her heels against his shoulders, wanting to push him away so she could feel the length of him against her body, yet needing him to continue, wanting the tension to explode.

  Relentless, he massaged the soft, moist flesh, his breath warm against her inner thighs until she could stand it no longer. She trembled and then let go, gasping as wave after wave of shuddering release swept through her.

  Before she caught her breath, he nudged her open, entering her and filling her so completely she moaned. He thrust until another wave of quivering heat flashed through her muscles and bones. He caught her hands and held them above her head, his eyes intent upon her face and body as she moved beneath him.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” his low voice ground out.

  Muscles tightening, he went rigid, body pumping by instinct, contracting until he relaxed against her with a sigh. He buried his head in her neck, his arms pressing against her shoulders.

  Not wanting to let go, she wrapped her legs around his buttocks, locking him in place. She wanted this feeling, the connection of complete surrender and contentment, to last.

  Stay with me. Stay. Please.

  His skin felt satiny and warm under her hands in the vulnerable areas along his sides. She tightened her legs and ran her hands over his back. Her caresses grew desperate when she felt him move slightly. As his breathing slowed, she felt him withdrawing, centering himself. Slipping away.

  “Don’t get up,” she whispered. “Don’t go.”

  Brushing her hair away from her face, he propped up his left elbow on the bed and rested his head against his hand. “We can’t stay here. I wish we could, but…. It’ll be dark soon. Night. We need to find Father Donatello.”

  “I know, but—” She broke off and looked away.

  This was why she avoided relationships—this sensation of being pushed away and abandoned.

  Now her body ached to remain here with him. She didn’t want to get up and get dressed. The bed felt warm beneath her and the room smelled of sex and Kethan. When she inhaled, the heat pooled between her thighs again, wanting release, wanting his touch, needing more.

  Wanting him to be a man who hated vampires as much as she did, instead of being their friend, being everyone’s friend, and offering redemption to the damned.

  Craziness screamed through her, driving a sledgehammer into the back of her head. Her past taunted her. She’d never been good enough. Never would be, not for someone like him.

  She released him and wrapped her own dark sense of purpose around her like a cloak, acknowledging the terror lurking in the darkest pool of her mind, waiting.

  She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.

  All she had to do was play along with his fantasy of negotiating with the damned. Once the talks were done, she could slip away and do what had to be done. She’d watch from the shadows and wait until the opportunity to destroy the undead presented itself because if she didn’t, it meant she’d been wrong when she murdered Carol and Carlos and all those who followed. She had to believe her actions made a difference—made things right.

  The beast within her moved restlessly, demanding carnage—the blood of vampires—and it would have to be fed, eventually.

  If only she could save Father Donatello first. That action might serve to make up for Kathy and the rest of her failures over the years, times when she simply hadn’t been fast or sharp enough.

  This time, she wouldn’t fail. Whatever it took, she’d make sure Father Donatello came home, safe and still human.

  Chapter Twenty

  Trying not to grin like an idiot, Kethan dressed quickly. Despite his sense of closeness and completion, he couldn’t convince himself that Quicksilver felt the same connection. There was an unpredictable side to her that kept him off-balance and his instincts warned him that their brief moment of sharing wouldn’t make her stay or change her mind about his mission.

  When she got up, her muscles long and smooth beneath the pale skin, his concerns faded. He couldn’t look away: he wanted her. There didn’t seem much else to think about except that he felt a tenuous bond forming between them, tying him to her. Perhaps it was only a one-sided bond for she seemed determined to maintain her distance, but it tugged at him even when he wasn’t sure she would ever reciprocate his feelings.

  She despised him and what he did for a living, that was clear, although she seemed to be changing. When she told him about her past, he’d heard the pain and doubt in her voice. She needed to believe she’d done the right thing to help her deal with what had happened to her.

  That’s really all anyone wanted: to do the right thing.

  Well, at least he maintained no illusion that one night together would transform her or make her accept his past. He might not be a vampire now, however he was fairly sure she did not see vampirism as a curable condition.

  Once a vampire, always a vampire.

  She caught his glance. Her mouth compressed and a mutinous expression slowly replaced the satisfied flush. “I’m going to take a shower.” She grabbed her discarded clothing and headed for the guest bathroom.

  As he watched her go, his eyes lingered on the long line of her back and rounded curve of her bottom. No. He had no regrets, at least not yet. They’d both been crazy, unable to focus on anything except the tension burning between them. Perhaps now he could concentrate on the situation with Sutton instead of being distracted by the blood pounding deep within his body whenever Quicksilver walked by.

  Shaking his head, he got up and showered in the m
aster bathroom. When he returned to his bedroom, he stared at his rumpled bed with a goofy smile on his face, breathing deeply. Her faint scent lingered like some warm, exotic perfume. It took several minutes before he realized he still held his damp towel. He put it in the hamper as he considered his next action.

  Perhaps it was time to give her the whips back. She might be calmer and more inclined to listen if she felt safe and the presence of her weapons hanging from her belt seemed to reassure her.

  Martyn Sutton had somehow managed to keep the rest of his clan away from them despite his tenuous control so arming Quicksilver might not be too risky. At the moment, Sutton seemed strong enough to consider it.

  A niggling doubt seeped into the back of his mind. Father Donatello was missing, and Kethan had no information concerning his disappearance. Didn’t that mean that something had gone terribly awry and that he was wrong about Sutton?

  Had he been wrong to meet Sutton halfway and believe in his sincerity? The clan leader obviously felt threatened enough to want a cease-fire with the church, their historical enemy. Only Kethan’s unwavering faith in the possibility of grace drove him to hold out a hand to the master vampire. If Kethan did nothing and allowed humans like Quicksilver to slaughter the undead, they would get no second chance, and Kethan knew just how precious that slim chance was.

  To be able to start again, fresh. To have a new life.

  To be able to fall in love and have a family. A true family. A real life, in all its glory and misery, laughter and tears.

  Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he caught sight of the bed behind him and his mind slipped sideways. The seductive thought of a family, children and grandchildren, took his breath away, but the feeling did not last.

  Quicksilver wasn’t the only one with extra baggage. As so many Country and Western songs twanged, love had done him wrong. His mistakes would make a hit on the Country music charts, that’s for sure.

  A flushed, achingly intense first love had seduced him and then converted him into a vampire four hundred years ago. In less than a week, she moved on to another lost soul, leaving him to deal with his fate as best he could. Since that disaster, he’d had plenty of time to get over it.

  Now, he had to learn how to survive the crazy vicissitudes of a normal human life all over again and not waste it for one transcendent night. He intended to marry and have children. He intended to live this time, which was why he needed to be cautious. A woman like Quicksilver was not the sort of woman a man took to the church to meet his priest.

  “You ready yet?” she called, poking her head through the door.

  Kethan buckled his belt and shrugged into a dark jacket. His dour reflection said he might have chosen clothing a little brighter and less funereal. The black jeans, dark blue shirt, and black jacket made him look like some sort of Irish hoodlum vampire.

  Ironically, Quicksilver had dressed in her white jeans and leather jacket, making the two of them look like chess pieces: white versus black.

  Your move, sir.

  He walked over to a shoulder-high safe bolted to the floor in the corner of the room. The combination was simple, the last two digits of the pivotal years of his life: ’12, the year he was born, ’21, the year he died, and ’01, the year of his rebirth.

  “Here.” He pulled the heavy door open. “It may be wise if you take your whips.”

  “Why?” Her voice was sharp although her eyes blazed an avid, intense blue.

  When he glanced up, she stood in the doorway, leaning forward. She had clasped her hands behind her back as if physically restraining herself from leaping forward, knocking him away, and grabbing her weapons.

  “I’m not sure who’ll be at the meeting. We should be prepared.”

  “I’m always prepared.”

  Holding out her coiled whips, he pulled them back a fraction at her words. “Promise me you won’t use these unless you have to. Our goal isn’t killing vampires, it’s finding Father Donatello. Clear?”

  “Sure. We want to give everyone a second chance.” She snagged the whips and reached behind her back to fasten them to her belt. Although she bit her full lower lip, the trembling vestige of a triumphant smile shone from her face as if the whips completed her, made her feel whole. “I won’t use them. I promise. Unless I have to.”

  “Why does that not reassure me?”

  She laughed and stroked his cheek, her eyes bright. “Because you’re a smart man.”

  “Then may God have mercy on our souls. If you believe that, we really are in trouble.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll feel better when it’s all over.” Her eyes locked onto his. “What if I promised not to do anything unless you tell me to?”

  He nodded. Smart. That would be smart. “That sounds reasonable.”

  “At least you won’t think I’m a sociopathic killer.”

  “No one does,” he said.

  “Right.”

  He grimaced and led her out, trying not to let his mind linger over the shape of her hips and long length of her legs, both emphasized by her tight jeans. Despite his efforts, every few seconds, he lapsed into a sexual fugue state, remembering odd sensations, the way her mouth felt, the touch of her hand….

  Time distorted, and his awareness of the present eroded until he found himself “waking up” to find he had no idea how he’d gotten down the stairs and outside, or what Quicksilver was saying. He couldn’t afford to go blank in the middle of talking to Martyn Sutton or whoever had Father Donatello.

  “We’ll take my car,” he said as Quicksilver headed toward her motorcycle, parked at the curb. Maybe driving would keep him focused.

  “That piece of crap?”

  “Yes.” The motorcycle was too exposed, too vulnerable. He couldn’t shake his unease. He glanced up the street and moved closer to her. Suddenly, he felt overly protective even though she was the one least in need of protection with her whips at her waist.

  As they climbed into his car, her brows drew down and her mouth pursed as if she contemplated an unpleasant topic. “Will it start?”

  “Of course.” He laughed despite the cold drops of sweat trickling down his sides as he turned the key in the ignition.

  Thanks be to God! The car started.

  The meeting place wasn’t far; nothing in Grenville was very far since an odd curve of the Potomac River cut off expansion on the north end of town and it could only grow southward. Sutton had selected the field behind the Grenville High School this time, nervously trying to avoid using the same place more than once. His skittish behavior irritated Kethan and prevented them from relaxing in a neutral environment long enough to make headway with their negotiations. All they had time to talk about was where they might meet next and where the conveniences were for the humans.

  If Kethan hadn’t been so determined, he’d have given up the minute Quicksilver barged into the room. However, he believed in his goal and knew that at least a few vampires might be weary of their half-lives. Some might have become the undead through no fault of their own and could eventually stumble upon the way back if they lived long enough. Only time would allow them to make the final gesture toward salvation, if their nature was capable of it.

  When he brought the car to a halt in the school’s parking lot, the vehicle rattled for a full minute before it exhaled and died. Quicksilver glanced at him. Her brows rose, and he shrugged. When it was time to leave, the car would either start or it wouldn’t. It was in God’s, and his mechanic’s, hands.

  Martyn’s SUV was parked at the opposite end of the lot. The expanse of macadam around them was empty except for a few crushed soda cans and browning tufts of grass breaking through cracks marbling the black, tarry surface.

  An eerie sense of foreboding weighed against Kethan as he scanned the deserted lot. His shoulders tensed, and the skin across his forehead tightened. The red-brick high school looked more like a prison than a school, with small, high windows with wire-reinforced glass and heavy, metal double doors.


  A six-foot tall chain-link fence divided the grounds into depressing utilitarian sections. Clusters of trash collected at the base of the fence, and the sidewalks were scarred by swaths of black graffiti. The air reeked of suppressed teenage rage and futility. The atmosphere eerily echoed the emotions he’d sensed when he first met Quicksilver.

  Taking a deep breath, he unfolded himself from the car and walked around to her side to open the door. Only time would tell if he were right in believing she could change. He hoped to God he was.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Quicksilver glanced at Kethan in surprise. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “They’re here. That’s Sutton’s car.” He opened the door for her.

  “I don’t feel them.” She stood up and walked a few feet away. Turning slowly, she lifted her chin and gazed around, trying to sense them or catch the foul, dusty odor of rotting wood that always clung to the undead.

  A curl of mist seeped out of the woods, rolling in thick waves across the street. Slowly, it enveloped an outstretched wing of the school. The eerily silent bank of gray unfurled tendrils and spread between the thick, black trunks of the leafless trees bordering the parking lot. Cascading across the oily black surface, the mist gradually surrounded them. The air grew dank with the damp, moldy smell of fresh earth and fallen leaves.

  “Sutton?” Kethan called, facing the advancing fog.

  “Please. Be quiet,” Quicksilver spoke in a soft voice, her body so tense she could hardly swallow. Her breath froze in her chest. They were out there, waiting for them.

  Vampires.

  “This isn’t like Sutton—”

  “What do you mean?” Her lips barely moved as she whispered. Don’t make a sound. Don’t let them know where we are.

  “He was a farmer and carpenter when he was alive, an average guy. He came here for a new life in fifteen-eighty-six.”

  “So what?”

  “He doesn’t go in for vampire theatrics.”

  “Maybe he’s changed.” Peering through the fog, she moved closer to Kethan. Droplets condensed on her eyelids and slipped down her cheeks like rain. Her right hand stole around her waist, seeking the comfort of her whips. With a solid handle in her hand, she could face anything. As she unfastened the leather strap holding one of the whips, the muffled creaks sounded abnormally loud. She froze, listening.