A slow, hard smile spread across the stranger's mouth. "I can assure you we're not, though Aiden's been known to play a mean Mozart on the piano. If you're as smart as we've been led to believe, you'll realize how lucky you are to have us on your side."
"Is that right?"
The stranger lifted his dark brows. "Who do you think ran off the Casus last night in the woods?"
"That was you?" Molly whispered, moving to Ian's side, which earned her a hard, intimidating glare as he uncrossed his arms. "If you're here to help, why now? Why not before he got ripped to shreds by that maniac?"
"Molly," Ian growled, obviously taking exception to her words, but she merely grabbed hold of his hand, the surprising gesture startling him into silence. For a moment, his hand remained rigid in her grasp, but then his long, warm fingers curled around her smaller ones, holding tight. Smiling to herself, she wondered if he'd ever actually held hands with a woman before, then jerked her attention back to the stranger, who watched them closely, his dark eyes taking everything in.
"Interference is not our way," he explained. "Our purpose is to remain neutral, to keep watch over those who are not human and report our findings to the Consortium. But we've broken the rules, I guess you could say, in this case, because the battleground is no longer an even playing field. Until you know how to protect yourself, the Casus is at an advantage, which became clear last night. These are strange, unprecedented times, and our unit has decided that allowances have to be made, whether the Consortium gives their consent or not."
"The Consortium?" she asked, her questions mounting as she thought over what he'd said.
"It's a complicated story," he murmured, "and one I'm certain Kierland would rather explain himself."
"You know," Ian muttered at her side, "I've never trusted anyone who claims to be neutral.
Usually means they're just too chickenshit to pick a side."
"I assure you, Merrick, we are not cowards," the stranger responded with a sharp smile, the look in his onyx-colored eyes even sharper. Molly shivered in reaction, and Ian gave her hand a comforting squeeze.
"I still haven't heard a good reason why we should go with you," he said in a quiet rasp, the gritty tone as challenging as his body language.
"Because if you don't, you'll die. It's as simple as that. And once the Casus kills you, he'll start in on your woman. You've been safe so far during the day, but what about tonight? Or tomorrow night? The night after that? Do you trust yourself to be able to protect her when it makes its next move?"
Turning his head, Ian stared down at Molly, knowing he didn't have a choice. If it was just his life on the line, he probably would have taken his chances. But he couldn't roll the dice where Molly's life was concerned. She didn't deserve it, just as she didn't deserve getting dragged into the middle of what was turning out to be a living, breathing nightmare.
Looking back toward the dark-eyed stranger, Ian held the man's stare as he said, "You still haven't given us a name."
White teeth flashed in a hard, satisfied smile. "My friends call me Quinn."
AFTER GRABBING ANOTHER round of burgers and fries for their dinner, it took nearly an hour of traveling on the winding mountain roads, climbing to a higher elevation, before they finally reached the place Quinn called Ravenswing. There was no doubt that the Watchmen compound, as he'd described it, had been aptly named. Nestled between the base of a sheer cliff and a smooth lake that gleamed like black oil in the moonlight, the compound's largest building possessed a sweeping roof that resembled the fluid arc of a bird's wing, flaring up at the far end as if curved in flight. Reflecting the infinite, star-studded darkness of the sky, the surface of the large, three-storied structure glittered like black diamonds.
"Ohmygod," Molly breathed in a stunned murmur of awe.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" Quinn rumbled from the backseat of Ian's truck, an unmistakable thread of pride in his deep voice.
"It's magnificent," she replied, while the massive gates that blocked the private driveway swung to a close behind them.
"The entire compound is fenced," Quinn explained. "We have surveillance equipment running 24-7. Whoever is manning the control room tonight recognized your truck. Otherwise, they wouldn't have opened the gates."
"How long have you been watching Ian?" Molly asked, staring with wide-eyed fascination out the window as they drove up the winding drive that led to the main building, an array of smaller structures just visible through the inky darkness. As they'd made the journey, Quinn had confessed that the Watchmen knew about her conversations with Elaina and the reason she'd come to Henning, Colorado, since they'd been watching Ian closely, monitoring his awakening. But he hadn't explained how long Ian had been under their surveillance.
"The Buchanan line has always been one of our top interests," Quinn murmured, avoiding a straight answer. Molly was ready to press him for more information, when Ian pulled to a slow stop near what appeared to be the entrance into the building...or house...since she still wasn't certain of its function. Opening the back passenger's side door, Quinn climbed out, leaving them alone within the intimate cab of the truck.
Aware of the warmth of Ian's stare on her profile as she leaned forward, still gazing in awe at the beautiful structure through the windshield, Molly turned and found herself captured in the glittering depths of his eyes. There was a silent message in that mesmerizing blue gaze--for her to be careful, to stay close to him. She wondered if he felt the same nervous certainty that she did--that they were getting ready to embark upon a new leg of this...she stumbled over what to call it. Journey? Quest? Whatever it was, they were drawing nearer to the end...to the moment when Ian would have to face what was inside of him, as well as the evil hunting him down.
Lowering her gaze to his mouth--to the hard, sculpted perfection of his lips--she sent him a small, trembling smile that bloomed up from that shaky knot of emotion churning deep inside of her. A low sound lost somewhere between a groan and a visceral growl slipped from his lips, and he reached out, capturing her chin in the callused hold of his fingers.
Before Molly could prepare herself, he leaned across the center console and pressed the hot, damp, delicious heat of his mouth against hers. The warm, shivery sensation in the pit of her stomach sparked into a fiery burst of craving, and she moved her mouth under his, undone by the rough-silk texture of his lips. By his warm, rich scent and intoxicating taste. With just the simple touch of his mouth, he held perfect, complete mastery over her body, her will--and the fading bite marks on her throat began to slowly pulse with heat. She would have gone anywhere with him--done anything with him--just to get more of that dark, decadent pleasure.
Thankfully, Ian had the frame of mind to realize that now wasn't the time or place. Breaking the kiss, his breath surged against her mouth, gritty and rough, as if it'd taken a physical effort for him to stop. The air closed in around them, lust-thick and heavy with warmth, despite the cool burst of the air conditioner blowing in from the vents. "No matter what happens, you stay close to me," he breathed against the sensitive surface of her lips.
"I will," she whispered. "I promise."
He stamped the impression of his mouth against hers one last time, hard and fast, then pulled away. Shivering from the inside out, Molly forced herself to turn and open her door, then climbed out into the lingering heat of the evening.
THE MOMENT he came around the back of the truck, Ian stepped closer to Molly's side, surprising both her and himself as he settled his hand at her lower back in a silent, yet unmistakable gesture of possession.
Quinn stood just outside the opened double doors that led inside the building, talking with another man. Moving closer, Ian could see that the guy's dark, windswept auburn hair fell over his brow, his pale green eyes sharp with awareness as he watched them make their way toward the door. He was as tall as Quinn, the lean muscles stretching the seams of his blue T-shirt attesting to the fact that he lived a hard, physical life.
It didn't escape Ian's notice that Molly couldn't take her eyes off the pretty-faced asshole, and it pissed him off. All of it. All the ways in which this woman affected him. But what irritated him the most was the fact that he even noticed her reaction to another man. That had never happened to him before, which seemed to be some kind of warped theme in their bizarre relationship, this constant discovery of new ways she could get to him.
He didn't like the uncomfortable feeling in his gut, either--the one telling him to throw off his jackass-of-the-year routine and just play nice with her. Playing nice with women like Molly Stratton gave them ideas--expectations he didn't have a chance in hell of ever meeting.
Not that he wanted to meet them. He just wanted to have sex with her. To take hold of her sweet little body, lay it over the nearest flat surface he could find, and learn how she tasted from the top of her head down to her dainty little feet. Then he'd get this infuriating itch for her out of his system once and for all.
And he'd have done it, too, if he'd been able to dredge up so much as an ounce of faith that once he got her under him, spread and penetrated, he'd be able to control himself. That he wouldn't slip over into that dark, slick pool of hell lurking beneath his skin, and end up hurting her. End up sinking his fangs into her pale little throat and accidentally killing her.
Molly could sit and tell him he was one of the good guys until she turned blue in the face, but it wasn't going to change the fact that he didn't trust himself with her, that he feared what he'd do to her if he got her beneath him.
By the time they reached Quinn and the redhead, Ian's jaw was clenched, his expression pulled into a tight, hard scowl. The stranger's pale green eyes met his, and Ian sneered, "Let me guess. Kierland Scott?"
"At your service," Scott murmured with just the trace of a British accent rounding out the edges of his speech. The bastard had the audacity to send Molly a flirtatious grin as he took hold of her right hand, leaning down to press a kiss against the delicate ridge of her knuckles.
"Watch it," Ian warned, the words so low, they were barely audible.
Scott merely arched a brow in response, and Molly pulled her hand from his grip with a soft, nervous murmur of sound.
"Let's take this inside," Quinn said, shaking his head at their male posturing. "I could use some coffee."
"This way," the redhead drawled, the corner of his mouth kicking up at one corner as he flicked a quick glance at the possessive hold Ian had on Molly's waist. Gritting his teeth, Ian held her tighter, pulling her more closely against his side as they followed after the jackass, while Quinn shut the doors behind them.
The rich, intoxicating smell of cedar and wood polish filled the air, and Ian glanced upward at the exposed beams that crossed the high ceiling of the wide hallway, then down at the thick stretch of burgundy carpet running along the center of the gleaming hardwood floor. Despite its modern exterior, the inside of Ravenswing conveyed nothing short of wealthy, rustic comfort, warm and inviting. It seduced the senses, the colors as soothing as they were bold.
Opening a thick, double set of intricately carved pine doors, Scott led them into a massive, equally high-ceilinged kitchen, complete with terra-cotta tiling, gleaming black appliances, rows of cabinets that matched the doors, and a mass of gleaming copper pots hanging from three wrought iron pot racks.
Two long tables ran down the center of the room, but Scott gestured them toward a smaller oval table that sat in a windowed alcove off to the left, the glinting surface of the lake visible beyond the glass. "I'll grab the coffee," Quinn said to Scott. "You go ahead and get started. I think they've got some questions they'd like to ask you."
Ian snorted under his breath, thinking that must be the understatement of the year. He was about to pose the first of what he expected would be many when Molly slipped into one of the high-backed wooden chairs and immediately said, "What can you tell us about the Merrick?"
"How much do you already know?" Scott asked, folding his tall body into a wide chair on the opposite side of the table, while Ian did the same with the chair at Molly's right.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, she ruefully admitted, "I'm afraid we don't know much, really."
Leaning back in his seat, Scott rubbed his hand against the bristled surface of his jaw, slanting a shuttered look toward Ian. "I assume your mother talked to you about the Merrick."
Pulling his pack of cigarettes from his shirtfront pocket, Ian took one and wedged it between his lips; at the same time Scott reached toward the counter behind him and grabbed an ashtray. Using his lighter, Ian lit the tip of the cigarette and took a slow drag before replying.
"She talked of ancient ancestors who she claimed once walked the earth. Said they were more than human. Powerful. Primal. Something that existed between man and...and something darker...more visceral in its nature."
"She was right," Scott murmured, eyeing his cigarette with a hungry intensity that made Ian wonder if the guy had recently quit.
"Where did they come from?" he asked, flicking his cigarette at the ashtray.
Scott took a deep breath, as if collecting his thoughts, then slowly began. "No one really knows where they came from or how they came into being. But it's believed they lived throughout Europe, easily blending in with humanity when they needed to, which enabled their numbers to thrive. They consumed blood in order to feed the primal parts of their nature, though they didn't kill their victims. Instead, they lived in peace, respecting their human brothers and feeding only from other Merrick and gypsy tribes who were aware of their existence. The gypsies traded their blood for the protection the Merrick offered from those clans who were sometimes aggressive toward the tribes."
Molly slanted him a meaningful look, and Ian knew she was thinking of that first dream they'd shared on Friday night, when he'd taken her on the ground in the middle of a gypsy campsite. Her cheeks flushed with color, and she delicately cleared her throat, cutting her gaze back to Scott. "So there were other clans?"