Authors: Rhyannon Byrd
“It’s not a case of just picking one,” he said, slipping one hand beneath his jean jacket to readjust his shoulder holster. He’d been out of uniform since finally taking some long overdue leave the week before, and it felt strange. Like a part of him was missing. Thankfully his job as a sheriff enabled him to travel with his piece, so he hadn’t been forced to leave his gun behind when they’d left Ravenswing, the Watchmen compound where his brother and sister were now living. And where
Riley had recently been staying, only because they wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Believe it or not, Kell, some of us are actually more discerning than you.”
The Watchman muttered something under his breath, raked one hand back through his hair, then sent him a look of frustrated confusion. “Honestly, man, I don’t know what it is about you Buchanans. Why do you always have to make everything so bloody difficult?”
Riley grunted, knowing exactly what Kellan meant. Ian’s awakening had been far from easy. But unlike his brother, who had been afraid of feeding from the woman who would soon be his wife, worried he’d take too much blood and accidentally kill her, it wasn’t the feeding part of his awakening that terrified Riley. He knew, after seeing Ian and Saige go through the change, that he could take what he needed without harming the woman beneath him. But that didn’t change the fact that he would still have to find a woman willing to let him sink his fangs into her throat, which was pretty damn unlikely. And then there was the issue of the Casus, who would no doubt hunt down anyone he singled out.
Not to mention, you still haven’t found the one that you want….
He knew that, damn it. And he also knew that he wasn’t going to find her. Not when
she
was on the other side of the country, probably settled down with a brood of children and an adoring husband who worshipped her the way she’d deserved to be worshipped. Hell, even if he did find the balls to track her down, he knew damn
well just how Hope Summers would react if she saw him again. He’d either get her hand across his face, or her fist in his eye, and that would be that. No more than he deserved, and no less than he expected.
Gritting his teeth, he jerked his chin toward the gray two-story, wood-shingled café that sat up ahead, nestled between the breathtaking, fenced-off cliffs and the thick, towering forest. “That’s the place up there.”
Kellan read the wooden sign that swung on a post down by the road. “
Millie’s.
Cute name.”
They set off up the winding stone path that led to the café’s front door, and Riley said, “I heard there are some cabins on the grounds that they rent out, so hopefully we’ll get lucky and be able to take one.” Then they’d be able to search in the woods that lined the café’s back garden, where they believed the Marker was buried, without drawing suspicion.
Thunder boomed out over the churning ocean waters, heralding a coming storm, while the watery sunlight that painted the gray shingles of the café in an ethereal glow disappeared behind a bevy of swollen clouds.
Opening the door of Millie’s, they stepped inside, and Kellan’s rumbled reply was lost beneath the buzzing in Riley’s ears as he drew in a deep breath…and damn near died. There it was again.
That scent.
Familiar, like something he’d known before…but different. Richer. Sweeter. Deeper than he remembered.
He looked, searching, trying to find the source, his heart hammering like a freaking drum, and then the
kitchen door swung open at the edge of his vision. “Hope?” he breathed out, unable to believe it could be true. It was…
impossible.
As though she’d heard her name whispered on his lips, the woman now standing behind the gleaming wooden counter slowly turned his way. She blinked a pair of big, luminous, topaz-colored eyes, her chin quivering, as if she’d seen a ghost. As if she couldn’t believe he was standing there, in the middle of the crowded café. She opened her soft, pink mouth, and he took a step forward, accidentally bumping into another customer. She swallowed, staring…her heavy breasts rising and falling beneath a long, baggy sweater.
And then she suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream of rage.
“What the he—”
Before Kellan could finish his startled curse, Hope Summers took aim and hit Riley smack in the center of his forehead. But it wasn’t a punch she’d thrown at him. No bare-knuckled wallop or open-handed slap. No, he thought, grimacing as the hot, melting mess she’d chucked with deadly accuracy dripped into his eyes, blurring her flushed, furious expression. The woman had slammed him with warm, homemade apple pie.
And fate, it seemed, had found one last way to screw him after all.
R
ILEY WAS IN TROUBLE
.
Serious, neck-deep, quicksand kind of trouble, and he was sinking deeper with each second that passed by. He’d thought it was bad, wanting Hope Summers and not having her near. Not being able to see her. Not being able to breathe her into his system, gulping down that rich, mouthwatering scent as if he needed it to live. Needed it to get through each day. Not knowing where she was, assuming she still lived in North Carolina, where he’d heard she’d gotten married not long after she’d set off for college. Not knowing what she was doing, wanting to punch his fist through a wall whenever his imagination supplied a sickening, nauseating montage of images of her with a husband.
Her husband.
The man whose right it was to want her…touch her. Take her beneath him and do the things that pulled Riley out of the night’s darkest, deepest hours of sleep, his body hard, sweat-soaked…shaking, wanting her so badly it was a physical pain in his gut.
After he’d ended things between them, it’d been hell, seeing her at school, around town. Watching her get
older, slowly growing more mature, blossoming into a person he would never know…never be close to. Unable to take it, he’d finally gotten as far away from their hometown of Laurente, South Carolina, as he could, hoping the distance would help him deal. And then he’d made it a rule, whenever he was home, that he discussed her with no one. Ever.
Yeah, he’d thought the craving had been bad before. Self-destructive. Stupid.
But this was worse. And her damn “dessert assault” wasn’t helping the situation.
Before he’d even managed to wipe the sticky remnants of apple pie from his face, she hit him with another pie that smelled like cherries. The noisy café had erupted into muted chaos, everyone struggling to dodge the line of fire, their rapt attention focused on the bizarre spectacle, while Hope’s low, breathless muttering could just be heard beneath Kellan’s choking, snuffled cracks of laughter.
“The nerve…coming here…bastard’s lucky I don’t take off his…”
Using his arm and shoulder, Riley wiped his face on his sleeve as best he could and lifted his head in time to see her taking aim with what looked like a mountainous froth of lemon meringue. A low, aggressive growl lashed out from his chest. “Enough!” he barked, taking a step forward. “Damn it, Hope! What the hell are you doing?”
“I want you out!” she screeched, hurling the pie.
“Gone! This instant!” He ducked to the side just in the nick of time, the lemon meringue zinging by his ear like a missile, until it exploded against the front door, sloshing to the gleaming hardwood floor in a slippery, sunshine-colored mess.
“Christ, Riley,” Kellan called out from behind him. “You really bring out the soft side in people, don’t you?”
He turned his head to glare at the snickering jackass, which was a mistake. Hope took aim again, and a blueberry pie joined the others, her target lower that time, hitting him square on his chest, chunks of dark blue pie covering his T-shirt, jacket and jeans. Snarling, he finally shook himself out of his stupor. Lifting his right hand, he held it palm-out, fingers splayed, and the sailing chocolate cream she’d just thrown stopped in midair, dropping to the floor five feet in front of him. The air was filled with murmured remarks like
“Damn, she aimed too short that time!”
and
“That one didn’t have enough weight behind it!”
—but he knew his action hadn’t gone unnoticed by Kellan. The guy’s laughter faded, and Riley swore he could feel the heavy weight of Kellan’s stare burning into the back of his skull. He’d deal with the silent torrent of questions blasting from the Watchman later, after he’d handled the screaming, pie-hurling banshee.
Flicking more filling from his eyes, Riley narrowed his gaze on Hope as she searched behind the counter for new ammunition. Before she moved on to anything
more lethal, like a knife, he stalked across the pie-splattered floor and quickly moved behind the counter. She shrieked, trying to rush past him, but he latched on to her arm, growling, “We need to talk.
Alone
.”
She fought his hold, her eyes blazing as she quietly swore in a low, steady stream of inventive phrases. Undeterred, he pulled out his badge and flashed it at the room, thinking to slow down anyone who might come rushing to her rescue. He doubted Hope even noticed what he’d done, she was so focused on escaping his hold, her free hand pulling ineffectually at the fingers wrapped around her bicep. Replacing his badge in the back pocket of his jeans, Riley released her arm as soon as he’d latched on to her wrist, locking his fingers around the fragile bones in an unbreakable hold. Then he started dragging her past a pretty middle-aged woman he recognized as her aunt. Millicent Summers stood at the register, her bright gray eyes round with surprise, mouth open in a look of stunned astonishment as Riley pulled Hope through the swinging door. Instead of leading to the kitchen, as he’d thought, they entered a small service area that sat between the front and back of house, another doorway located on the opposite wall.
“Let go of me!” Hope shouted, and he glanced down, his gaze instantly clashing with hers, the currents of anger and hurt and shock sparking between them so strong, he was amazed there wasn’t smoke. Riley could see that she hated his guts, almost as much as he wanted to eat her alive. From the top of her head down to her
cute little Doc Marten–covered toes. He took a slow visual inspection, noting the baggy sweater and jeans that did little to hide her killer curves, before reconnecting with her glittering gaze. Then he just stood there, lost…staring, so wound up he wondered how he didn’t just snap. His eyes felt hot, his chest tight, his skin two sizes too small for his body, while the primal part of his nature was in full roar, struggling to fight its way to the surface.
Forget it,
he silently grunted.
You’re never getting your hands anywhere near this woman. So back off.
The Merrick’s visceral fury clawed through him, but he pushed it down, mentally slamming it into submission. His instincts told him to retreat, but he couldn’t turn away from her. Couldn’t stop staring…soaking it all in, gorging himself on the flesh-and-blood woman, the reality so much better than the fantasies that had tortured him over the years.
And yet those fantasies had been centered on a girl who was gone. Forever. The woman standing before him now was a stranger. One he didn’t know. Couldn’t read. And one he sure as hell couldn’t predict. The Hope he’d known would have never lost her temper. She’d been quiet. Timid. Shy. The woman before him, vibrating with fury, was anything but. And yet he’d have recognized her from nothing more than a glance.
Jesus. What in God’s name was Hope Summers doing in Purity, Washington? If you’d asked him five minutes ago, he’d have sworn that such a thing wasn’t
possible. The proof, however, was staring right at him. Or glaring, as it were.
He was screwed, and he knew it, because in that moment Riley realized that the only thing worse than wanting something that wasn’t there, was having it stand before you, knowing damn well that you couldn’t have it. And no matter how wrong it was, he
did
want her. Wanted her soft, womanly body beneath his, penetrated and stretched, her husky cries filling the air while he filled her with his cock. Wanted the Merrick’s fangs buried deep in her pale throat, while the hot, provocative rush of her blood spilled over his tongue. He’d been thinking about her since his awakening had begun, but then thoughts of the Merrick had always gone hand in hand with Hope.
Hell, if he were completely honest, he’d just shuck the tough-guy routine and admit that he’d never
stopped
thinking about her. She’d always been with him, all these years, hovering at the edges of his awareness. Always there, impossible to shake. Her scent. Her laughter. Her smiles. He could see shades of the girl in the woman. She’d been beautiful at sixteen, but she was heart-stopping at twenty-nine. Not like the superficial beauties plastered across glossy magazine covers. She was more real than that. More…He struggled to put his finger on it, but couldn’t.
Hope, on the other hand, apparently had no problem coming to grips with what she thought about him. The evidence was still covering him, clumped in his hair, on
his clothes. He probably had pie in his friggin’ ears. And on that point, he snarled, “What the hell was that about?”
She growled. Actually growled at him, looking around as if trying to spot something else to throw at his head.
“Damn it, woman!” he raged, grabbing her shoulders as she reached with her free hand for a thick, sturdy peppermill, probably thinking she could crack him upside the skull with it. It was a jarring thought, considering his teenaged Hope had been the most calm, gentle person he’d ever known. The one standing before him now was a goddamn she-cat, with her claws extended, ready to draw blood. “Calm down!”
She glared up at him, her topaz-colored eyes narrowed to furious slits. “I want you out!”
His fingers tightened, just enough to hold her in place. “Well, I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well settle down.”
“Get your hands off me!” she seethed, the energy blasting off her hot and feral and sexy.
“Gladly,” he growled. “Just as soon as I know you’re not going to try to brain me with anything.”
“You know, Ri,” Kellan drawled from somewhere off to his right, obviously having followed them into the small room, “I’m usually not all that great at reading the female mind. Too damn complicated, unless we happen to be in bed at the time. But I get the feeling this one isn’t all that happy to see you.”
At the sound of the Watchman’s voice, Hope’s eyes
went comically wide. She froze, then peeked around Riley’s shoulder, gasping when she realized they had company. Very slowly, she closed her eyes, took several deep, shuddering breaths and finally relaxed in his hold. “Okay. All right,” she whispered, her voice soft and thick, the lashing intensity of her rage somehow melting away. It left her with a haunted look on her beautiful face—one that jabbed at him, stabbing at his conscience. “The last time I saw you, I was still numb from the shock of what you’d done, but…I’ve had years to think about what happened between us. To think about the way that you treated me. And I guess…I guess it all just came roaring out. But I’m…fine now. You can let go of me.”
He made a low sound under his breath, and she lifted her long eyelashes, looking back up at him, her golden-brown eyes shadowed by embarrassment. “Really, Riley.” She touched her tongue to her upper lip, and he had to fight not to go hard as his blood rushed south, thickening in his cock. “You…you just caught me by surprise.”
“I’d love to see what you could do with a little time to plan an attack,” Kellan rumbled, and from the corner of his eye Riley saw the good-looking Watchman give her a wink.
“Are you going to introduce your friend?” she asked, smoothing her hands down the front of her shapeless sweater as he forced himself to take a step back. His palms itched to track the same path, and he fisted his hands at his sides, feeling as if he’d slipped into a dream. Or better yet, a freaking nightmare.
“Kellan,” he growled. “His name’s Kellan Scott.”
“Please tell me you’re going to be our new landlady,” the flirt drawled, one hand pressed against his heart as he flashed her what he probably considered his most charming smile. “Say yes and I’ll be willing to step in and sacrifice my body for the cause.”
Apparently not immune to the Watchman’s teasing, Hope’s face turned pink. “What cause?” she asked, her confusion obvious.
Riley turned, glaring at Kellan, who lounged with his shoulder propped against the wall, his blue-green eyes lingering on Hope in a way that tested Riley’s control. And he hated to lose control, damn it. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned in a quiet rasp.
Kellan blinked, his brows raised in a look of wounded innocence. “What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me. And no one invited you back here,” he muttered, just as a clump of crust dropped out of his hair, plopping onto his shoulder. Scowling, he grabbed a nearby hand towel and ran it over his face and head.
“I’m not about to miss all the fun.” The Watchman’s white teeth flashed in a smile. “Tell me, Ri. This kind of thing happen to you often? Getting assaulted with pastries?”
“Pies aren’t pastry,” he said, slanting a narrow look toward Hope as he tossed the towel onto the counter.
“Is that so?” Kellan murmured, scratching at the dark bristles covering his chin.
Hope nodded. “They’re desserts.”
The teasing idiot winked at her again. “As well as ammunition.”
“We do have wonderful pastries, though,” she told him, returning the guy’s grin, though Riley could see the strain lingering around her eyes. “You should try the pecan ones. They’ll melt in your mouth.”
Kellan appeared riveted, and Riley knew damn well that it wasn’t food the Watchman was thinking about as he practically purred, “You can bet I will, sweetheart.”
“That’s enough,” he ordered, struggling to get control of himself. He focused his attention on Hope, who had managed to put more distance between them, so that she now stood with her back pressed up against the counter behind her. “First things first. What exactly are you doing here?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she arched one slender brow. “Considering this is my business, maybe that’s what I should be asking you.”