Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel) (11 page)

"Those are new," Jordyn said, pointing to the pile of white bones. "Someone's been here." She whipped around, shining her light into the woods. "My grandmother died when I was ten. She was the last gifted magi in our family. I'm the only other one who can work this site."

"Apparently not." Tension slid down Eric's spine, and he dropped to his knee, shining his light on the earth. The ground was soft from the damp marsh, but there were no indentations. "No footprints," he said. "Do vampires leave footprints?"

"If they're walking, they do."

"And if they're...flying around like a bat?"

She laughed. "They don't turn into bats. That's such a stereotype." She eased past Eric and into the clearing, giving the pyramid of bones a wide berth as she moved past it.

"So, the bats are a stereotype. They're all just vicious, blood-sucking monsters who will rip out your throat while their soulless bodies echo with the emptiness of their lack of humanity?"

She laughed again. "Something like that."

He grimaced. "I was joking." Well, he'd hoped he was. Apparently not.

He finally noticed the five-foot wide wooden shed that Jordyn was heading toward. It looked almost like a dilapidated outhouse, and an old, rusted padlock held it shut. A heavy spiritual energy surrounded it. There was a sense of warmth and safety, but it was intermingled with angry black jabs of pure evil. Something was inside that shed, something that was too damn close to being alive. "Jordyn, don't open that—"

Too late. With a few quick twists, Jordyn had already unlocked it and pulled the door open.

"Wait!" Eric grabbed Jordyn's shoulder and yanked her back just as she opened the door.

She stumbled back as he jumped in front of her, his knife up. Thick energy clawed at her skin, and the hair lifted off the back of her neck. Eric was braced in the doorway, his body tense and ready.

There was a sudden screech, a howl so loud that Jordyn clapped her hands over her ears and went down on her knees. A black shadow burst out of the shed, streaking right at her. For a split second, she thought she saw a jagged, tormented face screaming as it raced toward her. Its incisors lengthened, and she scrambled back, fear tearing through her.

"No!" Eric shouted, and there was a sudden rush of wind. It tore through the clearing, grabbed the specter, and ripped the phantom away from her. It shrieked with agony as it was torn apart, its body dissolving into a thousand fragments.

The wind died down, and she saw Eric was down on his knee, one fist pointed at her, his other hand clamped around his forearm, as if he were supporting it. His face was a silvery gray, and shadows seemed to undulate over his skin. For a split second, she froze in terror, staring at him. "What are you?" she whispered.

Her voice seemed to jerk him back. He dropped his hands and stood up. Color flooded back into his face, and his eyes returned to their usual shade of brown. He strode over to her and crouched in front of her. "You okay?"

"Um, yeah." She touched her throat, half-expecting to feel that it had been torn apart by the specter that had come after her. It was fine, though. No damage, at least to her body. Her nerves, on the other hand, weren't doing so hot. "What was that?"

He brushed his hand through the air above her head, and her scalp tingled. "You're good. It didn't touch you." His face was grim. "What exactly was your grandmother into?"

"Why? What was it?" The bigger question was, what was
he
? For a split second, he'd seemed like a ghost himself, a creature from the beyond, hovering between the corporeal and a fate worse than death. "What just happened?"

He stood up and held out his hand to help her up. "Your grandmother trapped spirits," he said. "That was a bad one, and she'd trapped it between life and death. Being held in that place turned it into...something you won't want coming at you." He looked grim. "It used to be a form of torture reserved for those who deserved the most severe punishment, but the practice stopped many centuries ago when people learned it created a worse monster than they started with. It's not kind to do."

She stiffened. "My grandmother was a good person."

"Maybe she was, but I don't know many reasons that justify what she did to that spirit." He glanced over his shoulder at the shed. "It must have escaped its wards, but couldn't get out of the shed." He gestured with his fingers. "Come on. It's gone now. I'll check and see if there are any more."

She hesitated, almost afraid to take his hand, suddenly remembering that moment in the jungle when he'd said that he wasn't a man, not really. "What are you, Eric?"

His face was cold and hard. "You don't want to know, Jordyn. No one wants to know." He leaned over and grabbed her hand, hauling her to her feet.

His hand was warm and reassuring around hers, and she swallowed at the unexpected surge of comfort she felt from having her hand in his. "You're not human."

He pulled her toward him with a sudden jerk that knocked her off balance. She fell against him, and sucked in her breath at the feel of his hard body against hers. That same surge of desire cascaded through her, but this time, it was laced with the fear of the unknown, apprehension about the man behind the mask that she now knew he was wearing. Her fingers dug into his chest, and she wasn't sure if it was to push him away or bring him closer. "Eric—"

His fingers slid through the hair on the back of her head, gripping lightly. Anger shone in his eyes. "I don't give a shit what anyone thinks of me," he said softly, his tone edged with flint. "I really don't. But I just learned that I don't like it when you look at me like I'm a monster. Turns out, it matters what
you
think of me."

She swallowed. "I don't think you're a monster."

"That's the thing, Jordyn. I am one." Then he bent his head and kissed her.

It was more than a kiss. It was a sensual assault meant to throw her so off balance she couldn't even think straight. His mouth was demanding and hot, his tongue a sinful temptation, his breath a whispered seduction as it feathered through her.

It wasn't the kiss of a monster. It was the kiss of a man so sexual that his very essence as a male plunged right into her soul and wove desire through every inch of her body. She slid her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and then locked them behind his neck, unable to do anything but respond to the fires that he had so ruthlessly stoked inside her.

A sensual growl sounded low in his chest, so deep that she felt it reverberate through her. He palmed her waist, his hands spread across her hips like he owned her body. Her skin felt like it was on fire, a blazing trail marking everywhere his hands touched. He gripped her butt, lifting her against him so her belly was crushed against his pelvis. She could feel his cock against her stomach, so hard that her body clenched in response.

God, yes, she wanted this man. This arrogant, beautiful, tormented man with secrets so terrible she'd seen them in his eyes when he'd driven off the specter. He was a man without a history or roots, a vagabond who had forged his way through life playing in cemeteries with a brother who could raise the dead.

He was every bit as dangerous as Walter, who had killed everyone who mattered to her. Eric was more, and worse, because she didn't understand him or even know what he was capable of. He was a man she should fear, a man she should shun, and yet all she wanted was to feel his hands on her body and lose herself in the sheer power of his presence.

"Jordyn," he whispered her name into the kiss as he grasped her thighs and lifted her up. Her legs went around his hips as he took two steps. Then her back was against a tree, and he was crushed against her, driving into her through their clothes as the kiss turned from hot to deadly.

She couldn't get enough of him. The fire burning through her was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It was heat. It was lust. It was need. It was an insatiable craving for more, more, more, but she couldn't even articulate what it was that she needed from him.

He slipped his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, and palmed her bare back. She gasped as his fingers spread across her, a sensual caress of skin against skin. He locked one arm around her back, protecting her from the bark of the tree. He anchored her against him as he slid his hand over her ribs, tracing each bone as he moved his hand higher. He deepened the kiss, overwhelming her senses in a thousand different ways.

Then his hand closed over her breast. She gasped as desire rolled through her, a need so visceral she couldn't even breathe. He pinched her nipple, making her writhe as tendrils of wet heat coiled through her, like the flashes of lightning bisecting the sky on a hot summer night. She tugged at his shirt, frantic for more as she jerked it up, exposing his chest. His body was so hard and warm beneath her hands, and he sucked in his breath as she ran her hands over his muscular torso.

"God, that feels good," he whispered as he broke the kiss and began to trail his mouth hungrily down the side of her neck. "I want your hands all over every inch of my body."

The image of his naked body at her mercy leapt into her mind, and the sexual tension that had been gripping her so fiercely seemed to explode. "
Eric.
" She flung her arms around his neck and hauled him against her. The kiss was feral and dangerous, unleashing passion inside her that she didn't know existed.

He groaned again, a growl so deep and unearthly that it sent chills racing down her spine. Not a ripple of fear. It was more like pulsing, sensual anticipation of the wildness of the man in her arms, of what he could do to her if he stopped holding back.

Her nipples were aching with need, and her muscles convulsed every time he pinched them. Lightly at first. Then harder. Sensual pleasure edged with just enough pain to make her gasp. Then he shifted, moving his hands to her thighs. He began a slow, sensual caress as he slid his hands up her leg, raising her skirt higher and higher, baring her skin.

Her heart hammered in terrified anticipation as his hands closed around her buttocks, his finger sliding beneath the edge of her underwear. His thumb brushed over her clitoris ever so slightly, and she jumped, gasping in startled surprise at the sensations that ripped through her. Oh, God, what was she doing? She couldn't do this. Not with him. Not with anyone. "Eric, stop."

His hand stilled, his palm resting gently against the juncture of her thighs. He broke the kiss, but didn't move his head, so their foreheads were resting against each other, their noses still touching, their lips barely a breath apart. They were both breathing heavily, and she was trembling. "I'm not ready for this," she said, even as she tightened her grip on him, her hands entwined around his neck.

He let out his breath, and said nothing, his hands still on her body, hot and tempting against her flesh.

"Eric?"

"Give me a sec," he said, his voice so deep and raspy that chills shivered down her arms. "I have to pry my libido out of my brain. It takes a minute or two."

She almost laughed at his reply, the tension easing from her body. Eric might be part monster of some sort, and he might be a temptation that was far too dangerous to play with, but at the same time, he was still just Eric, the ridiculously charming man who made her laugh with his irreverence.

He finally lifted his head, and looked at her. His eyes were a turbulent swirl of emotions, and her belly immediately tightened at the realization that he hadn't been joking. His need for her was stark on his face, a desire so powerful that it made her want to melt into his arms right then and there and let him fulfill his every fantasy with her body.

"You're trouble," he commented.

"You're the one who's trouble."

His gaze went to her hair, which he oh-so-gently brushed off her face in the most tender of gestures. "No, sweetheart, I'm way past trouble on that spectrum. But you..." His attention settled on her face. "I'm going to have to make love to you," he said. "There's no other possibility."

She swallowed, her body suddenly awash with a tantalizing warmth. "No sex," she said. "We have to find Tristan—"

"I know we do. But my brother isn't the only thing I need to address." His face was dark, almost moody. "As it turns out, it appears that one of the things I need is you." There was such an edge to his voice that she shivered.

"Should I be afraid?"

"Yeah, probably." His gaze went to her mouth, and she instinctively licked her lips.

"Don't," she warned him. "Don't look at me like that."

He met her gaze again. "Can't help it." But even as he said it, he finally stepped back, lifting her away from the tree. He slowly, tantalizingly, lowered her to the ground, his hands sliding along her thighs and hips as he eased her down.

Her feet hit the ground, and her legs felt shaky and weak. She wanted to grip his arms, but instead she made herself release him. Instinctively, she folded her arms across her chest. "I don't want this to happen between us," she said.

"Are you so sure?" His eyes were burning hot, and she could see shadows swirling across them, just like she'd seen on the blade of his knife and on his skin, after he'd saved her from the ghost.

She swallowed. "Eric, I told you. I don't want this."

"Yeah, I know." He leaned forward, into her space. "But I do. One of us isn't going to get what we want."

His words hung in the air, a challenge so replete with sensuality and tension that she felt it prickle across her skin. What could she say to that? Because part of her wanted him so badly she could feel her need for him etched in every cell in her body, and she was sure he knew it. "I'm broken when it comes to relationships," she said. "My scars run too deep."

"I don't want a relationship. I just want you."

She frowned, her hands going to her hips. "You just want to have sex with me? Just satisfy your lust and then call it a day?"