Exhaling a rough breath, Ian asked, "What about my brother and sister?"
"If more Casus escape, we have no doubt that your brother and sister will be hunted...and the Merrick parts of their nature awakened."
"Christ," he hissed. "We don't even know where Saige is."
"Fortunately," Scott drawled, "we do. Each of the Buchanan siblings has been under surveillance since the time you left home. Your sister, at this time, is on another one of her archeological digs in South America. Though she doesn't know it, one of the Watchmen tails her every move."
Ian opened his mouth, ready to pose a question, when Molly suddenly asked, "And this Casus that's hunting Ian...it won't go after them now?"
"Killing either of them at this point would be a waste of an energy source," Quinn responded, drawing their attention. "Better to leave them alive until they've awakened and can provide a full dose of power. Kill them too early, and it's like picking fruit before it's ripe. But they will need to be warned of what's to come."
"And can these things be killed?" Ian asked, cutting a sharp look toward Scott.
"Yes...and no," he rasped, the fingers of one hand curled around the mug of coffee sitting on the table. "According to the legend, you can't destroy its spirit by killing its host body, though you can send its shade back to the holding ground. But first you have to be powerful enough to defeat it, which won't be easy. As one of the original Casus, it's going to be stronger than you. Your only hope of survival is to learn to fight with the true power of a Merrick, which is why we've brought you here."
Molly's voice quivered as she said, "Will he be able to become a Merrick whenever he needs to? How will it work?"
Scott's gaze shifted, his green eyes warming as he met Molly's stare. "The darkness calls to the Merrick, so it's easiest to make a full change at night. But as he grows stronger, traits will materialize when needed--especially when provoked by hunger."
Ian watched as the bastard's gaze slid to the faint marks on Molly's throat, and he got the message loud and clear. If the Merrick wanted blood, it could take it whether it was night or day, which meant that sex with Molly in the middle of the afternoon wouldn't be any safer than sex with her at night.
So much for that loophole.
"You know, the more I learn here, the less I care for this goddamn legend," he admitted.
"The matter, however, is now out of your hands," Scott stated quietly, his gaze lingering on Molly for a moment longer, before finally making its way back toward Ian. "You must let go of your anger and accept that things are now beyond your control, Buchanan. These monsters, they have no conscience. As soon as the Merrick part of you is ready," he murmured, "you must confront the Casus, before it destroys everything that you care about."
Scraping the words past the anger and frustration bottled up in his throat, Ian growled, "So then you're saying my only chance of surviving is to let this thing inside of me free?"
Quinn nodded. "Only the Merrick part of your nature will be powerful enough to defeat the Casus."
"But even if Ian kills the body of its host," Molly pointed out, "you said he could only send its spirit, its shade, back to the holding ground. And if they can get out once, surely they can make it out again. Can the spirit not be killed, as well, ensuring that the Casus is destroyed forever?"
Scott shook his head. "Not without one of the Dark Markers."
"The what?" Ian rasped.
"It's the name given to the weapons created by the Consortium--the ones meant to hold the power to kill the Casus, body and soul. But no one knows for sure if they're just another part of the legend, or if they actually exist. The weapons were meant to be used as a talisman for those who wore them, offering protection from the Casus so that they could get close enough to make the kill. But the Markers were lost, if they even existed to begin with, when the Collective's wave of terror began. It's not even known what they looked like. Some believe they were shaped like daggers, but--"
"No, that's not right," Molly murmured, cutting him off. She cast a questioning look toward Ian, who nodded for her to continue, suddenly aware of what she was thinking...and looking forward to their hosts' reactions. Shifting her gaze back to Scott, she said, "You told us they protected those who wore them, right?"
Scott's pale green eyes narrowed. "Yeah."
"The talismans, the Dark Markers," she said softly, her breathless words shivery with excitement, "they weren't daggers. They were crosses. And they did actually exist."
Scott's expression turned doubtful, while an arrogant smile began to curl the edge of his mouth. "And how do you know that?"
"Because," she told him, her cheeks flushed with a wild bloom of color, "Ian's mother left him this one." And then, reaching inside the top of her shirt, Molly grasped the velvet cord and pulled out the mysterious cross they'd found that afternoon.
AS THEY MADE THEIR WAY up to the third story, where Scott had directed them to a suite of rooms set aside for their use, Ian thought about the last moments down in the kitchen.
His mouth kicked up at one corner as he recalled the Watchmen's reaction to Molly's announcement about the cross they were certain was a Dark Marker. They'd been nothing less than stunned, nearly turning the damn table over as they'd lunged forward, wanting a closer look.
Molly had taken the cross off and let them hold it, while explaining about Elaina's note and how she'd referred to the necklace as a talisman, as a way to "set things right." Quinn had stood up to switch on a bright overhead light, and the two men had spent long minutes simply turning it over in their large hands, studying its intricate designs. Noticing the heavy look of fatigue in Molly's eyes, Ian had finally asked if they could be shown to their rooms, and Scott had reluctantly handed the cross back to Molly, who'd slipped it over her head once more.
Before they'd left the kitchen, Ian mentioned the fact that the Casus had spoken of the talisman to him, which had earned a new round of surprised reactions. According to the two Watchmen, the Dark Markers weren't created until after the Casus had been imprisoned, which begged the question as to how the one hunting Ian even knew of its existence.
His brow drawn with concern, as well as confusion over the strange development, Scott had told them their bags had already been taken from the truck and up to their rooms. He'd said they would meet again in the morning to further discuss the talisman over breakfast, after which they'd get started with Ian's training.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Ian turned the strange story of the gypsy legend around and around in his mind, not sure what to think of it all. There was still a part of him standing back, shaking its head, thinking this must all be some kind of cosmic prank. But the cuts on his arm and ribs were proof enough that it was real.
As was Kendra's death.
And now this son of a bitching Casus wanted to get its hands on Molly.
Not in this life.
"Scott said the rooms were at the far left end of the hallway," Molly murmured at his side, her tone distant, as if she were lost in thought, same as him.
"Not too shabby," Ian drawled, eyeing what looked like a recessed library off to their left as they made their way down the wide hallway, toward the double doors at the end. The library sported floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on two of its walls, as well as three large coffee-colored leather sofas, a hi-def LCD TV and an assortment of low tables in dark wood placed throughout the spacious alcove.
"This place is pretty amazing," she said as they reached the doors of their suite. Grabbing the thick wrought iron handle, Ian opened the door, a rough curse jerking from his throat at the sight that met his eyes. Beside him, Molly gasped, one soft hand clutching on to his arm as if she needed him to hold her upright.
They both stood eerily silent and still, staring at the red-and-black pattern of the Persian carpet spread out over the hardwood floor, identical to the rug in the second dream they'd shared. The dream where they'd been in a firelit room, with a wall of windows, while the storm outside had raged as violent and thunderous as the pounding of Ian's heart.
"I don't believe it," he rasped.
"This...this is unexpected," Molly whispered, sounding dazed.
"Unexpected?" He made a rude sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head. "It's insane, is what it is, Molly."
She tilted her head back to look up at him, her delicate face caught somewhere between an expression of awe and fear. After pulling her lower lip through her teeth, she quietly said,
"Ian, I think it's time we accept the fact that the things happening here...between us...that they must be for a reason. One that's beyond our control."
He scowled, moving away from her, onto the edge of the carpet. The familiar wall of windows loomed before him, while two open double doorways stood on either side of the room, revealing matching bedrooms within. Assorted pieces of expensive-looking furniture caught his attention--a small love seat, dark table, tall entertainment center--though he didn't recall any of them from the dream. But behind him, in the corner near the door, sat the empty fireplace that had been crackling with flames.
Their luggage, he saw, had been left at the foot of the bed in the room to his right, as if they'd be sharing it together. Which they wouldn't.
Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Ian struggled to get control of his anger. "Beyond our control?" he muttered under his breath. "God, you sound like him now."
"Him?"
He shot her a dark look over his shoulder. "The British asshole downstairs."
"You don't like him, do you?"
Instead of answering, he shifted his gaze back to the rug and drawled, "He certainly liked you."
"What are you talking about?" she asked at his side, closer than he wanted her at the moment.
Ian ate her up from the corner of his eye, noting the fact that she looked somewhat irritated.
Not that he wasn't used to having that effect on women.
"Don't play stupid," he replied in a low, gritty slide of words, turning to face her. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets, just to be smart, in case he decided to do something stupid now that they were alone, like grab on to her...and never let her go. "The guy couldn't take his eyes off you."
She didn't say anything right away. Just chewed on the corner of her mouth, head angled slightly to the side as she studied him through her lashes. He fought the uncomfortable urge to shift his feet, as if he was five and had been caught doing something he shouldn't have. "I never would have believed it was possible, but you actually sound jealous, Ian."
He glared down at her, then turned away with a disgusted grunt and stalked toward the wall of windows. "Maybe I am."
"But...why?" Stepping to his side again, she tilted her face up, a husky tremor to her words as she said, "There's nothing for you to be jealous of. After everything that's happened between us, I would've thought that was obvious by now."
Ian locked his jaw. "Shut up, Molly," he ground out through his clenched teeth.
"I'm not trying to make you angry," she whispered. "I'm just trying to talk to you."
Pressing his forehead to the cool glass, he braced his forearms above his head and stared out at the darkness, doing his best to ignore her presence...his uncharacteristic jealousy...the ravenous, primitive craving coursing through his veins, pulsing in every cell of his body, demanding he take her...feed from her.
Christ, he didn't want to be there, but what choice did he have? After hearing Scott's explanations, he knew there wasn't a chance in hell he could beat that Casus jackass as a man--and it scared the shit out of him, the thought of becoming something that wasn't human.
Staring out into the night, he slowly became aware of a cold sensation on the back of his neck, slipping down his spine like a trickle of moisture, and he narrowed his eyes, wondering if it was out there. Was it watching him...waiting for the moment to strike? Would it feed again, and if so, on who? He hadn't dated anyone in Henning other than Kendra, though there'd been a few women in nearby towns. But no one he could imagine the Casus finding out about.
They'd been low-profile arrangements, like all his relationships. Simple, short-term, based on mutual exchanges of pleasure. Hell, he could hardly recall their faces, one as easily replaced by another, which he supposed made him one of the biggest jackasses around.
And now, here was this woman who tempted him like no other ever had, and he couldn't touch her, couldn't put his hands to her body...his mouth to her flesh, for the sickening fear of what would happen when he did. Was he being punished? Tested? Or was his luck really just that screwed up?
"Ian?" Her voice was soft and husky, with an unmistakable thread of lust that made him want to explode.
Grinding his jaw so hard that his teeth ached, he screwed his eyes shut, as if that could block out the sound of her...shelter him from that warm, lush scent that was making his damn mouth water. "Christ, Molly," he breathed out on a ragged, guttural groan. "Don't tempt me."
She touched the rigid bulk of his bicep, her fingers cool against the searing heat of his skin.
"Is this about the bites? Are you still afraid of hurting me?"
He made a gruff, choked sound in the back of his throat, which was all the answer he could give her.
Quietly, her voice a little breathless, she said, "I've told you that I trust you, Ian."
Opening his eyes, he turned his head to stare down at her, wondering how in God's name he was going to survive this. He was cracking apart inside, raging on the verge of something terrifying, and she just stared up at him with the softest look in those big brown eyes, her mouth curled the barest fraction into a tender, inviting smile, as if she didn't fear him at all.
And in that moment, the thought burned through his brain that he wanted to crack that infuriating shell of calm serenity that always surrounded her. Just smash it, break it open...break her open, and watch her go wild on him, screaming and clawing and begging for everything he could give her. Just watch her shatter and fall apart on him, while he sent himself so deep inside of her that she felt him everywhere, down in her bones and her blood and her secrets. In her dreams and her thoughts. He wanted to be that thick, burning presence that forged its way into her deepest hollows, deeper than any man had ever been before.