Authors: Marie Hall
“Don’t pay attention to my sister, spirit,” Eve said. “What is it that you want?”
The spirit turned cold blue eyes toward her, her austere face impassive. A harshness twisted the delicate features of the woman. She opened her mouth to speak, then paused before uttering a word and cocked her head.
“You’re Michael’s, aren’t you?”
Eve’s heart felt like it literally was going to rocket through her chest. She forgot the cold altogether. “You know him?”
The woman bobbed her head, her curls bouncing becomingly. “He’s nice.”
“Does he…does he talk about me?”
Tamryn squeezed her fingers, in sympathy or to urge her to hurry it up, she didn’t know.
“Not much. A little. He likes Cian.”
Shock didn’t even begin to describe it. This conversation had gone from weird into the
Twilight Zone
category.
“Because of that, I won’t charge you. You can find your Cian at 2166 Baker.”
* * *
Eve was putting away the candles, her mind consumed by the conversation with the spirit.
“Man, that went surprisingly smooth tonight, didn’t it?” Tamryn asked, placing the dagger on the coffee table and then helping Celeste to right the furniture once again. Already the apartment was warming. “Guess it helped that we happened to bump into a spirit that knew Mikey, eh? Wish we could have learned more about him.”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, only giving her sister half an ear. The only thing she could think about was the fact that Michael liked Cian. Was this a sign? Had Michael somehow known that she needed to hear that to free her from her doubts, panic, and fears?
Celeste grumbled, pointing to the window. “How long were we entranced?”
Eve looked. Sunshine was creeping under the blinds. Daylight already? That was the problem with the spirit world. What felt like one or two minutes could actually be five or six hours in real time. It was part of the reason why she hated entering that world. It was so draining.
She walked to the window and drew up the blinds. Startling bright light poured into the room, nothing but blue skies as far as the eye could see.
Crushed, she stepped back. She’d hoped to go to Cian’s as soon as possible and try to explain, make things right and really give this thing—whatever it was—a chance. She frowned. Now she’d have to wait all day.
“It’s seven o’ clock,” Tamryn wailed, sleepiness threading her voice. “We have really got to do that more often or we’re gonna lose our touch altogether. Goddess, I can’t believe we stayed with the spirits so long.”
Celeste shook her head, blond hair curling around her face. “I’ve got to open the shop in like the next ten minutes. Look, Tam, I still feel fine, so I’ll run first shift. You can relieve me at two. Sound good?”
“What about me?” Eve asked.
“You think we’re gonna make you work after what you found out?” Celeste gave a wicked smile, green eyes shining bright. “You can have today off, tomorrow too if, you know…things start to get hot and heavy.”
“Oh brother.” She chuckled. “I swear you guys must think I’m some sort of nympho.”
“Umm, yeah.” Celeste gave her a duh look, then shrugged. “Look, dolls, this has been fun and all, but I gotta run. And, Eve, since I’m sure you’ll be in hiding most of the night tonight and probably even tomorrow”—she grinned wickedly—“don’t forget the gathering, okay?”
Of course Celeste would go into mother mode, changing from teasing to serious so fast it gave you whiplash.
“The gathering.” She frowned and glanced toward the calendar hanging on her wall. “Ohmygod, that totally slipped my mind. Yeah, for sure, I’ll be there.”
“Good. Well, then. Kissy, kissy, and all that jazz, and Tamryn remember to wake up, please. ’Cause if you don’t I’ll turn you into a dung beetle.” With a finger wave, Celeste was out the door.
Tamryn turned back around, bloodshot eyes wide with humor. “There is something seriously wrong with that woman. You think we’re really related?”
“’Fraid so.”
“Yikes.” She shook her head and shuddered, her lips curled into a crescent-shaped smile. “Anyway, all right if I crash here? I’m wasted and if I gotta go relieve the queen B, then I’ll need all the rest I can get.”
“Fine by me. Pull out the couch bed. I’m going to bed too.”
“Mmmhmm. Yeah, okay. No doubt thinking about that handsome hunk of a vampire.” She bit her lip, a grin spreading across her face. “Word of advice. Make sure to pull the door all the way shut if you’re gonna play with Blue Thunder.”
“My god, Tam! You’re as nuts as Celeste.” Eve marched back to her room. Exhaustion crept into her vision, her sister’s tinkling laughter trailing behind.
The fact that she’d been thinking about doing just that was what embarrassed her the most.
What would life be without her sisters?
F
renzy stood, exhausted. Heartbeat slowing down from the frenetic thumps of earlier. So many souls in one small area, he’d been bombarded with the fiery rush of shifting to reaper throughout the entire night.
His arm ached with a deep throb in the very tissue of his muscle. What the hell had they been doing to call so many spirits to them?
He growled and flexed his hand, now fleshy and hopefully for good this time. Never before had he been forced to shift so often. Regardless that the souls were no longer tied to bodies, being around them brought out the death in him, and the ire.
“Witches.”
The creak of shifting floorboards and patter of movements that had gone late into the morning hours suddenly stopped. He narrowed his eyes, giving them a second, seeing if it was truly over.
He grabbed hold of the brass bedpost and closed his eyes. Instead of three, two steady pulses reverberated through his eardrums. One sister had left.
The heartbeats slowed into the gentle cadence of deep sleep. With a swipe of his hand he drew out some of his essence and covered himself in stealth, then opened a portal between his bedroom to Eve’s.
Rosebud lips parted in a tiny gap. Black lashes fanned against the perfect paleness of skin. One leg wrapped around a body pillow stuck out the corner of a purple velvet blanket.
The blinds were closed, but couldn’t contain the sun filtering between cracks. He walked forward and stopped at the edge of the bed. Did she know how close to death she lay? Was there any awareness in mortals that each second was precious? That life could so easily be snuffed out?
The thought that the next step, next breath might be the last crippled them.
Frenzy pulled the leather glove off his still fleshy hand. He wasn’t going to harm Eve physically. Fine. There were other ways to hurt and he was a master at that.
Lashes fluttered against her cheek like a moth’s wings. She was entering the first REM cycle. There would be no waking up now. He smiled, walked around toward the head of the bed, and hung his hand inches from her forehead, so close her body heat seeped into his palm.
The point today was to harm not bodily but emotionally. Leave her scarred and scared. Draw her into despair, panic. Break her will and leave her numb.
“Sleep. Sleep,” he chanted, filling her mind with memories drawn from his own. They were the nightmares of an immortal.
Bodies, diseased and wasted. Children, infants staring into the great void, mouths opened in soundless screams as their village burned to a cinder behind them. Flies buzzing around heads. The rotten stench of decay heavy in the air.
She whimpered, tossing her head.
The Great War. Witches staked at the cross, guts and intestines drawn from still breathing victims. Humans shaking their pitchforks; swords and daggers held tight in their fists. Faces of women and men—blue bloods and laymen alike—twisted into masks of hatred, contempt.
Her breath grew labored, chest heaving up and down. The room grew heavy with the sharp crack of agony. Tangible pain tore at Frenzy’s face, chest, and back. He frowned. Pressure drew against his skull like the sharp rake of claws.
His gaze flicked toward Eve. She moaned, twisting the sheets between her fists. Of course. It made sense now.
Cian would never fall for anything less extraordinary than him. This woman was more than witch. Her emotions were a corporeal force.
He slammed more into her. Fury from his past crept into his vision, fragmenting her thoughts with anguish, his anguish. Memories of his fourteenth-century Middle English beauty, Adrianna. His beautiful Adrianna, beaten, raped, and tortured.
Rich mahogany hair covered in blood.
Eve’s pain ripped into him and he accepted its twisting, knifing ache. He growled, remembering and throwing it all at her.
Mud and dirt caked on Adrianna’s royal-blue gown. Nails torn off in her struggle to escape, and gasping for air when there was none to take in.
She was left for dead on the side of a muddy road like so much garbage, and all because she’d rejected the advances of the duke for his.
Hate boiled inside him like a festering wound. The infection of his soul spewed over.
The gown he’d bought for her, shredded beyond repair, exposing her long, lean crimson-stained thighs.
Eve cried out—low, desperate cries. Tears rolled down from the corners of her eyes.
“Hell,” he snarled and ran from the room, from the memories. The sounds of Eve’s whimpering ripped into his back.
His nostrils flared, the murky haze of madness crept into his vision. Opening the portal with a swipe of his hand, he made ready to step through when the sound of rustling sheets caught his attention.
He turned. On the couch and curled into a ball lay a petite redhead, hair much like his own. But where his was pure fire, hers was a deep bloodred. One hand lay tucked under her chin. She had fragile, elegant features. He drew from Curtis’s memories, searching for the name of the sister.
Violet eyes. Redhead.
Tamryn.
Whimpers and moans spilled from the other room. With one final glance, he left.
* * *
Eve sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea going on one hour now. She couldn’t shake the dream from her head. Three hours after lying down she’d woken with the sounds of screams and battle cries thundering in her head.
She stared without seeing at the wall and bit her lip until it throbbed like the beat of her pulse. The babies lying broken. Women fallen to their knees, wailing and screaming in absolute heartache. Fire eating the huts, destroying memories.
She winced and took a sip of her lukewarm drink. The nightmare had been so real, vivid and terrifying, to the point that she could recall scent—unwashed bodies, the sickly sweet smell of blood. Sulfur odor of ash and fire. Crushed grass and horse sweat. Her hands shook and she dropped them to her lap with a heavy sigh.
An admitted history buff, she devoured books dealing with war and the ruin of empires. But she’d never before suffered like this. Her dreams had never been so fertile or realistic.
And the woman. Dead, raped. The horror she’d been through trapped in the eternal stillness of her gaze.
Eve swallowed hard around the lump in her throat and looked away, blinking. Bringing much-needed relief to the grit locked behind her eyes.
“Well, I’m a memory.” Tamryn walked out of the bathroom, dressed in one of Eve’s old scarlet-and-black baby-doll dresses. She looked down and then up. “You don’t mind, do you? Cel would kill me if I relieve her late.”
“No.” She waved her hand, stood, and walked toward the kitchen sink, pouring out the rest of her tea.
Tamryn grabbed her arm and turned her around, eyes narrowed and searching. “Eve, you okay?”
She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Didn’t get much sleep. Just tired.”
“You sure?”
Her lips twitched into a half smile. “Yeah, but you’d better go before Cel starts hounding me, trying to figure out where you are.”
Tamryn frowned, doubt glittering in her eyes. She didn’t believe her. That much was evident. But she didn’t push it either, only shrugged and walked to the door. “It’s okay, Eve. Sometimes it’s better to keep things to yourself. I won’t pry. Don’t forget the gathering,” she reminded her again.
“I won’t.” She shook her head.
“Good. See you tomorrow, and give that hunk of yours an extra nibble for me.” She winked and slid out the door.
Eve smiled, but didn’t feel it, and walked toward her window. The sun was still hours from setting, hours until she could see him again. It was sick how much she was coming to not only enjoy her brief moments with Cian, but eagerly anticipate them. Something about the man called to her, made her feel desirable again, safe. She sighed, knowing sleep would be almost impossible now that she couldn’t stop obsessing over how many hours were left in the day.
I
t was night, finally. Eve threw on a pair of faded blue jeans and a black turtleneck, tucked her keys and wallet into her pocket, and ran out the door.
She only hoped he’d be willing to listen. She raced down the flight of stairs.
Please, god.
So consumed was she by thoughts of talking to Cian that she barely noticed Curtis until it was almost too late. She came to a screeching halt, nearly running over Samhain in her haste. Curtis reached out, his hands gripping her by the shoulders and holding her steady.
Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. “Oh my gosh, that was too close.” She gave a weak laugh, grabbing her chest. “You seem to be saving me an awful lot lately. Sorry about that, Curtis.”
“Ah”—he shrugged her off—“no worries. You seem to have a lot on your mind.”
She nodded, shifting from foot to foot. Antsy to go. What if he was already gone, doing whatever the heck vampires did at this time of night? It was getting late.
“Yeah, I do.”
His warm gaze stared into her own. She was getting ready to turn away when she caught a flicker of color burning in his eyes. Startled, her heart tripped in her chest. Had she seen what she thought she’d seen or only an illusion of light dancing inside them? She blinked, but all she found was a sea of deep brown. There had been something, she was sure of it.
Ridiculous, nothing there. Stop being silly.
She was just nervous at the prospect of seeing Cian. That was all. Threads of the dream were still unnerving her, obviously. It was not a good day for her. Conspiracy theories would abound if she wasn’t careful.
Curtis gave her one last squeeze then dropped his hands. “You take care, there, Eve.” And then he walked on, tugging ever so slightly on the cat leash in his grip.
Samhain gave a small meow before finally deciding to follow.
She frowned, turning to stare at Mr. Lovelace’s retreating figure heading into his apartment, and dismissed the odd moment. There were other, more pressing matters to attend to at the moment, like getting to Cian’s posthaste. With that thought in mind, she raced outside to find a cab and head toward Baker Street.
Thirty minutes later she threw some bills at the cabby and got out, staring at the brick-faced Victorian home with wide-eyed wonder.
“He lives here?” She could hardly believe it.
It was beautiful. Classic.
Two-story home in the gothic style. Filigree black railing circled the top of the house. Stone gargoyles facing the street and sitting on the porch, their mouths open in wide Os, brows lowered and faces twisted into a glower. She shivered and rubbed her hands down her arms. Just the type of place she’d imagine a vampire living in. A wild storm, jagged lightning piercing the sky against a black backdrop, was the only thing missing to make this place really have that creepy, perfect vibe.
She glanced up and down the block. Pink and yellow azalea bushes lined the steep sidewalk. Elms, maples, oaks, and a variety of other trees littered the area. This was so different from the norm. San Francisco was pretty much one house or shop on top of another as far as the distant horizon. Baker Street was suburbia in the big city. Strange that in all her years she’d never been down this way. It really was beautiful.
She bit her lip, adjusted her top with nervous fingers, and walked forward. Now that she was here she wasn’t exactly sure what to say. This was going to look really weird no matter how she approached it.
Eve walked up to the door, hand poised and ready to knock. She didn’t see any lights on.
He’s probably not even here.
“No chickening out,” she whispered.
At the least he deserved an explanation for yesterday.
Taking a deep breath she shook her hands and shoulders, psyching herself up. “Okay, okay. I can do this. I am woman, hear me roar.”
Oh, that was really stupid.
She ran cold fingers over her face and nodded. Nerves twisted her gut in knots and threatened to make her sick. “Okay. One. Two. Three…”
The door flew open and she yelped, startled to see Cian headed out.
His blue gaze widened then narrowed. He looked from side to side and frowned. “Eve?”
Words left her. She was drawing such a serious blank it was a crime. Her hand was still fisted and poised to knock. She slowly brought it back down to her side.
This was mortifying in the extreme and not the entrance she’d hoped to make, that was for sure.
“What are you doing here?”
She gave a crooked grin. Now was as good a time as any to reassert herself. Straightening her back, she decided to face this head-on rather than become the cowardly mouse. “I came to find you, Cian.”
He lifted a brow, confusion glittering in his eyes.
She took that moment to study him. Goddess, but he looked good. White button-down shirt tapering to his broad chest, blue jeans fitting snug on his thighs. Not so tight as to reveal the package, but definitely enough to outline the smooth, firm muscle of his legs. That dark and light hair and those blue eyes. Perfection.
Yeowza!
He stepped back, ushering with his arm for her to enter. He still looked as confused as ever, but at least he was gentleman enough not to let her flounder on the stoop forever. The man was classy, she had to give him that. Relieved that he hadn’t decided to slam the door in her face, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Well, she’d
intended
to kiss it, but at the last second he turned and their lips wound up meeting. Just that brief contact sent heat zipping down her spine and she was smug enough to enjoy seeing his eyes widen in response. The man wanted her, even though he might not be ready to admit it. He was as helpless to this thing happening between them as she was.
Clearing his throat, he walked toward the kitchen area as if he needed space. She might have been hurt by his abrupt departure if it weren’t for the fact that she was feeling a little frazzled herself.
Her eyes widened the deeper they went into the house. Polished, hardwood floors. Bearskin rugs, boulder-style fireplace in the living room. Leather furniture of the deepest brown, mahogany entertainment center. Plasma-screen TV on the wall. “Loaded” did not even begin to describe this house. It was a bachelor’s paradise.
The kitchen was gorgeous, with the same polished floors, but all the electrical appliances were a futuristic silver—stove, fridge, even the toaster. The countertops were black marble.
“Take a seat.” He pointed to the breakfast nook. She slid into the diner-style table.
“Want something to drink?” he asked and turned toward the refrigerator, opening the door.
He was humming with curiosity. It was obvious in the tense lines of his shoulders.
“Got OJ?” She shrugged.
“I think so.” He reached in.
From out of nowhere, lancing spikes of pain arced down her skull. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut as fire raced through her body.
The same thing that had happened the other day was happening again, and this time returning with a vengeance. Eve winced, pressing her fingertips to her temples. It was like somebody was pressing her head from both sides. Pressure was building. Tears filled her eyes. This headache was worse. Much worse.
Like breaking a leg, puncturing a lung, and finding out you had cancer all at the same time, worse.
“Eve!” Cian grabbed her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
The timbre of his words echoed in her head like the gong of bells. Her limbs turned sluggish as fog crept over her vision, and then there was black.
* * *
Cian kept applying a wet towel to her forehead. The slithering madness inside him had snapped at his seeing her slump in her seat. Fear bubbled through his veins.
He still trembled from the aftereffects of so much psychic energy being blasted at him. It had been so powerful he’d dropped to his knees in agony and could still taste the adrenaline on his tongue. The incessant pounding in his skull was nothing compared to the fire stabbing through his brain earlier. Once she’d passed out, all the symptoms had faded; still, it scared him.
He glanced at her, his heart in his throat. She was pale white, her lips a light shade of blue. It was like the mark of death, but her pulse was strong. He couldn’t make sense of it.
Had she been suffering with those long? He ran a worried hand across her brow. She wasn’t feverish.
A healthy glow was settling back into her cheeks. He closed his eyes, his nerves unsteady and his hands shaking. Relief was a soothing balm to his tormented mind.
Gently he picked her up and walked her to the guest bedroom, which, thankfully, had a bed. He adjusted the pillows. Long black hair fell like shadow against the cream pillowcase.
“Lass, can you hear me?” he asked in a soothing, rocking tone. He framed her face in his hands, searching her for any sign that she was coming to.
A muscle in her cheek twitched.
“Wake up. Come on.”
She moaned.
“Eve.” He grabbed her hand and brought it to his whiskered cheek, expelling a long breath.
Her lashes fluttered and then slowly she opened her eyes, the golden depths bright with unshed tears. “What the hell happened?” she croaked.
“You passed out.”
She wrinkled her brows. “What? When?”
“Don’t you remember? Just a second ago.” At her blank stare he rushed on. “Eve, you were projecting so hard I nearly joined you.”
She sat up, bringing a hand to her forehead.
“I’m not sure moving is the best thing for you right now.” He held her around the waist, trying to draw her back down.
“Cian, I don’t know what happened, but I feel fine now.”
He frowned. “How is this possible? Don’t you remember the headache in the kitchen just a second ago?” Surely she couldn’t have forgotten that.
She gave him a weak smile and pushed her hand against his chest, freeing herself to sit up. “I, ah…” Her gaze shifted around the room, confusion settling like a mask on her features. Exhaling sharply, she looked to him. “Last thing I remember is you asking me what kind of drink I’d like, and then it’s pretty much blank from there.”
Narrowing his eyes, he studied her. Was she lying? Would she even have a reason to? But there was no denying the honesty in her golden gaze. She really didn’t remember.
This wasn’t normal. People didn’t go from near death one second to looking perfectly healthy and fine the next. “How do you feel now?”
She shrugged, a crooked grin on her face. “I feel fine. Never better actually. Little confused, to be honest, but otherwise…”
He gripped her shoulders, forcing her to stare at him. Being death had its advantages. Knowing what afflicted a spirit for one. Be it human, plant, or otherwise. All he’d have to do was pass someone on the street and he’d know immediately if they suffered a life-threatening disease. A physical manifestation of the malady would present itself. The low throb of cancer eating away at organs, or the rush of HIV through blood.
The sharp pains Eve had experienced made him scared that it could be a tumor, something pressing against her skull. All the symptoms fit.
Heart hammering in his chest he lifted a gloved hand and ran it along her head, feeling not for the hair beneath but the gentle hum of disease. He could hardly swallow around the lump in his throat.
Nothing.
No hum. No betraying vibration. Silence.
His nostrils flared, even more confused than ever before. With the exception of what had happened, Eve was as healthy as an immortal. No mortal sickness lay waste to her body.
Her eyes were like wide saucers in her face. “Cian, what are you doing?”
He dropped his hands. “I feel like I should take you to the hospital.”
She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I really feel fine. I doubt they’d find anything. I mean”—she threw out her arms—“do I look sick?”
“Well, no…” He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right, but neither could he put a finger on what that something might be. For the first time in a long time, he felt helpless. Not a feeling he relished where Eve’s safety was concerned. “Has this ever happened before?”
“Seeing as how I don’t even remember
this
ever happening, I can honestly say no.” She bit her lip, a sultry gleam filling her eyes. “You’re cute when you do that.”
Her words were so unexpected he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Warmth shot through him at her words. “What?”
“That. Worrying about me the way you do. It’s cute.” She smiled that crooked smile of hers.
He really wanted to get to the bottom of whatever that was, but she seemed fine and reluctant to keep talking about it. What else was there for him to do but move on? Obviously she was fine; maybe it was some quirk of the witch he was unaware of. So he took a deep breath and tried not to think about how his heart had nearly stopped in its tracks.
Cian stood and walked to the door. “Yeah, well, what can I say?”
She lay back down on the bed, pulling a pillow under her cheek and smiling. This tiny woman was lying in the center of a massive bed. And yet the bed seemed dwarfed by the size of her personality. From the moment she’d entered the house, it was like she shared a part of her soul with the home, blotting out the shadows and darkness, filling the space with her light.
He swallowed.
Nothing had ever looked so right or made him feel so warm.
“I guess, umm…” She gazed at him, a question in her eyes. Whether he wanted her to stay or go.
“Orange juice, right?”
That endearing smile lit her features again, erasing the strain from her brows. She nodded, and he turned to get it, his heart an aching thing in his chest. Seeing her here, in this house, felt so right. Natural. These emotions she brought out in him sometimes worried him, because with each passing hour he got to know her, the more he needed her.
The reasons for her coming and how she’d found him in the first place crowded his thoughts with each footstep.