Rachel opened her mouth to shout, to call for help...but before the first sound escaped her throat, he'd lunged forward, catching her in a deadly grip, one hand plastered over her mouth, while he made low, soothing sounds in her ear. She wanted to fight him, to cut him, but it took no more than a handful of seconds before he'd easily stripped her of the knife. Her camera slipped off her shoulder as he forced her to the ground beneath the gnarled branches of the tree, its ancient limbs reaching toward the heavens like a multitude of arms uplifted in prayer, though she knew no one could save her now.
As her ravaged screams rang out through the forest, a startled flock of birds took flight in the morning sky, but there was no one else to hear her.
Ravenswing, Thursday Afternoon
IT'D BEEN THE WEEK from hell. Not that Ian had been expecting tea and roses. But, Christ, at this point, there wasn't going to be anything left of him for the Casus to kill. He hurt from his head to his toes, his body one aching, throbbing pulse of pain, with a noxious mood to match.
Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he choked back a guttural growl, determined to ignore a slick, visceral slide of jealousy slipping through his system as he thought about how much time Molly was spending with Scott. He blew out a sharp breath, rolling his neck and focused instead on his grinning opponent.
Big kitty, my ass, he thought with a silent snarl. He'd learned for himself exactly what kind of shape-shifter Aiden Shrader was when he'd walked outside late Monday night for a smoke.
He'd found himself face-to-face with a four-hundred-and-fifty-pound tiger, its golden eyes glittering with humor when he'd stumbled back in shock and landed on his already bruised ass like an idiot.
Now, as Ian faced off against the arrogant Watchman, he was aware of his Merrick seething beneath his skin, furious that it couldn't get its hands...or its talons...on the guy. Shrader came at him in a blur of speed, but Ian was ready. Balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, he swiveled at the last second, grabbing the Watchman's upper body as he shot past.
Holding as tight as he could, considering they were both drenched with sweat, Ian used all his weight to propel him headfirst toward the garage wall, hoping to knock him out.
"You can keep trying to bash his brains in, but it won't do any good," Quinn called out from the garage rooftop, where he'd been sitting for the past hour, observing the training. "I've been telling Aiden for years that he hasn't got any."
A low snarl surged up from the Watchman in his arms, and Ian could feel the power building inside of Shrader, his muscles coiling, rippling beneath his skin. He struggled to get a better grip on him, but in the next instant, Shrader twisted out of his hold, swiveled around, and kicked his knees straight out from under him.
Ian went down. Hard. Pain exploded through his head as his skull cracked against the dusty ground. He expelled a harsh burst of air, and before he even knew what was happening, Shrader had one hand over his mouth. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, the Watchman jerked his head to the side.
The next thing Ian knew, he was blinking his eyes open, squinting against the bright glare of sunshine raining down from the crystal blue summer sky, the morning storm clouds long since burned away, leaving another record-breaking heat wave in their wake. He was surprised to find Shrader, Quinn and Scott all standing around his prone body. They stared down at him with varying expressions that ranged from disappointment and disgruntlement, to sheer unadulterated disgust.
"What did you do to me?" he croaked, wondering how long he'd been out.
"It's a simple enough trick, if you know how to do it," Shrader drawled. "And by the way, you lose. Again."
"No shit," he grunted, struggling to pull himself up into a sitting position. His head spun, his stomach roiling as if he hadn't eaten in days.
"I would've thought someone who's done as much fighting as you have would be able to give me more of a contest," Shrader added, curling his lip. "But you're proving as weak as every other human I've ever come up against."
Rubbing at the knot on the back of his head, Ian snapped, "Are you trying to piss me off?"
Quinn's drawl was as dry as the mountain wind. "Is he that obvious?"
"What's obvious is that you're the most stubborn jackass I've ever known," Scott muttered, speaking up for the first time.
"Go to hell," Ian grunted, moving slowly to his feet. Dizzy, he braced one hand against the wall of the garage, wondering if he was going to lose the lunch he'd eaten five hours ago.
"He could be watching you right now," Scott lectured him in a low voice. "Seeing you get your ass kicked. He's going to think you're so easy to kill, it's pathetic. You're supposed to be getting better, not worse."
Ian wanted to argue, but it was true. He'd been growing weaker every day, until he felt like something that'd been tied to the back of a car and dragged through the desert.
Though he'd finally slept out of sheer exhaustion--thankfully without any of the recurring dreams like those he'd experienced over the weekend--he felt sluggish inside, weighted down, the way he did after a bad case of the flu. His arms were heavy, same as his legs, his muscles cramping with each punch and kick he delivered during the long days of training.
You know what you need, you obstinate bastard. And she's up in that big ol' house...just waiting for you.
Shaking off the dangerous, destructive thought, Ian tried to draw in a slow, calming breath, but he could feel the violent fury of the Merrick part of his nature punching at his insides, raging and wrathful, demanding release. More than ready to take matters into its own hands. It wanted free, that very instant, but was too weak to fight its way out. It had been so long since the last dream, when the Merrick had taken her blood, that the need had become like a parasite, draining them both...and Ian knew something had to be done. He just didn't know what. He'd fought the hunger for so many days now, there wasn't a chance in hell he could get his fangs into Molly and not turn into a ravenous, raging maniac on her.
So if that's the case, you need to find another woman....
The jarring thought slithered through his system like something slimy and cold, but it wasn't the first time he'd heard it. There'd been a few moments over the course of the last few days that Ian had actually considered getting into his truck, driving into a nearby town, and finding a bar. Picking up a woman. Slinking back to her place with her, all the while hoping like hell that the Casus wasn't following him, when he'd already been warned that it was "tuned" into him, like some kind of preternatural tracking system. And then what would he do? Cross his fingers and hope that she didn't notice when he sank a set of fangs into her throat?
Yeah, great planning, Buchanan. You're a helluva strategist.
"Shut up," he muttered under his breath, wondering if the fact that he was now talking to the voices in his head was an indication that he'd truly lost his mind.
Pushing away from the wall, he muttered, "I'm done out here."
He hadn't taken more than a step before Scott grabbed hold of his shoulder, spun him around and slammed him back against the garage. "You're not going anywhere until we've talked,"
the Watchman grunted.
Furious that he was too freaking tired to go head-to-head with the asshole, Ian snarled,
"We've been talking all goddamn week. What the hell do you want from me?"
Scott shifted forward, getting right in his face, his usually easygoing expression pulled into a vicious scowl. "I want you to stop fighting what you are, because it's not only wasting our time, it's putting the lives of innocent people on the line. If you don't stop the bullshit and get it together, you'll never be able to defeat the Casus. He'll rip you to pieces before you even know what hit you, and then he'll go to town on Molly. Is that what you want?"
Rage built up within him so swiftly, Ian was amazed the top of his head didn't come off.
"Leave her out of this."
"Why should I?" the auburn-haired bastard demanded in a challenging snarl.
"Because she's not your problem!"
"No, you just..." Scott's voice trailed off as he suddenly cut a sharp look over his shoulder, and Ian shifted in his hold, trying to see what had captured the man's attention. His eyes narrowed, blood rising, when he spotted Molly coming their way from the far side of the L-shaped garage. She looked too soft and sweet to have landed in the midst of this macabre nightmare, like a delicate pansy being tossed into a valley of nettles, or a lamb thrown heartlessly to the wolves. That vulnerable core of tenderness called to him, made something inside of Ian clench with pain. Made him want to take her in his arms and protect her to his dying breath--if it weren't for the fact he wasn't the hero in this little drama, but one of the very things she needed protection from.
And yet, she truly didn't fear him. He could sense it--scent it--and that was what fascinated him most of all. The way she could be so undeniably delicate, and yet, so bloody strong and fearless.
By some kind of silent agreement, Quinn and Shrader moved away to intercept her, leaving Ian alone with Scott. It looked as if she was arguing with them, her worried gaze cutting again and again to where he stood with the Brit, who had released his hold on him and was now casually propping his shoulder against the wall at Ian's side. Molly searched his face for any sign that he wanted her to come to him--her hope and worry achingly obvious--and he worked to keep his expression neutral, though he could feel his facial muscles twitch beneath his skin. After what had nearly happened on Monday, he'd been avoiding her for days, going out of his way to make sure he was never alone with her, and he could sense her frustration, as well as the bruised shadows of hurt she tried so hard to conceal. She'd given him nothing short of wrenching, brutal honesty, and he'd repaid her by turning away from her. Not once, but twice. He kept expecting her to storm into his room late one night, slap his face and tell him to go to the devil. But she did none of those things.
Ian didn't know whether to be relieved...or irritated that she wasn't demanding he stop acting like an asshole.
You never know. Maybe she's changed her mind and opened her eyes to what you really are.
Maybe she doesn't even want you anymore. Maybe she's found someone else.
Locking his jaw, he fought the urge to go to her, while his Merrick howled its fury so loud within his mind, the fractured sound echoed against his skull. It wanted nothing more than to run to her, take her to the ground, and feed from that delicious little body. Feed until it was powerful enough to break its way out of him and finally face the Casus, putting an end to this nightmare once and for all.
She glanced his way one last time, her eyes shadowed and dark, while pulling that juicy lower lip through her teeth the way she did when she was upset. Or when she was coming, he remembered, damn near exploding from the swift, savage burn of lust that ripped through him. Then she shifted her gaze back to Shrader, who'd already become chummy with her, and nodded at whatever he was saying. A moment later, she turned away, letting the Watchmen escort her around the end of the garage and back up to the house.
"If you want to keep your eyes," Ian grated under his breath, when he noticed the direction of Scott's gaze, "stop staring at her ass."
Despite his simmering anger, the corner of Scott's mouth twitched. "Yeah?" he drawled.
"And just what are you going to do about it, Buchanan? If I wanted her, you couldn't stop me.
You're so weak right now, you couldn't punch your way out of a paper bag."
"Wanna try me?" he grated, almost hoping the guy would say yes. Despite all the hours he'd spent training that week, Ian had yet to face off against the arrogant Brit, and he couldn't help but wonder why that was.
With the wind whipping the dark auburn strands of his hair over his brow, Scott slanted him a cocky smirk. "I won't say I'm not tempted, but we have more pressing matters."
Ian arched his brows. "Yeah? Like what?"
"Be a smart-ass all you like. It isn't going to save you from hearing this."
"So spit it out already."
For a long, tense moment, Scott simply glared at him, and then he finally got to his point.
"When you got here, there were bite marks on the side of Molly's throat, though I'm assuming you didn't take enough of her blood, if any, considering how weak your Merrick is.
Because they were made by the Merrick part of your nature, they healed quickly. And since then, despite everything we've told you, despite us making it clear that you have to feed the Merrick in order for it to break free, and that only after that happens will you be powerful enough to face the Casus and take it down, putting an end to its killing spree--despite all that, I haven't seen any new bite marks on her. I asked Molly why that was."
Fury curled around the backs of Ian's ears, clawing up the inside of his throat. "It's none of your damn business," he ground out through his clenched teeth.
"That's exactly what she said," the Watchman rumbled, rubbing his palm across the ginger bristles on his chin, a brief flicker of amusement in his eyes, "though in politer terms."
"And I'm still wondering why you think this topic has anything to do with you," he muttered, wishing that he had a smoke in the worst way.
Scott's green eyes narrowed with impatience. "You have to feed from her. If you don't, one way or another, you're going to end up losing her. Either to the Casus, or because you've had to take what you need from another woman. You don't want to go through that."
Ian shoved his hands in his front pockets, drawling, "And here I thought you just might be hoping you could have her all to yourself."
"I'd like nothing better," Scott admitted in a graveled slide of words, his gaze shuttered. "God knows she deserves better than you, but I'm trying to do what's best for everyone."
Ian's lip curled. "Yeah, you're a real saint."