The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) (16 page)

But there was also a barrier erected. To an outsider the old man’s hunched shoulders and bent head might be taken as a sign of concentration on the task at hand. When in truth it couldn’t be more opposite. Tension, like thick dredges of sludge, filtered through the narrow room, making it feel smaller. More cramped, confined. If Mingan could growl right now he would be. He didn’t trust Cian.

Fine. He hadn’t come to make friends. 

“Do you have a tattoo, Cian?” Eve asked. Her eyes were wide and acutely aware of the strain in the room.

He shifted on his seat, clearing his throat. The question caught him off guard, he answered honestly. “One.”

“You’ll have to show me someday.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug.

She closed her eyes and turned her head, giving him free reign to inspect her closer.

The flesh Mingan was inking had long, tight whorls. Scars, from her accident no doubt. But none had the look of mottled flesh from such a severe accident. The skin was smooth. He wanted to know, but wouldn’t ask. She’d never told him about the accident and to reveal he knew that would expose him.

Her design glistened with color. The drawing of the woodpecker was elaborate and detailed. Its body was alternating shades of white, black, and gray. On its head a scarlet crest and its eyes were a deep hued gold. Not just a gold pigment, but gold. It glittered as the light struck it at odd angles with each up and down motion of her breaths.

The bird began at her left shoulder blade and wrapped around, down her ribs. He’d never seen anything so lifelike, it didn’t just look like a painting on skin, but almost as if the bird were ready to take flight. Its proud beak lifted high in the air, its wings spread.

He’d always assumed he’d hate any marking on the body. In some ways he loathed the fae and all their trappings. The marks on their body revolting to him, and yet, looking at this proud bird resting on Eve’s back… she was beautiful.

They strolled down the pier, the crowd long since gone, a purplish thread coloring the sky. Shops began to open; pulling up the steel gate they’d closed and locked the night before. Sea lions were silent save for the whistling of their breath as they slept. There was a soft lapping of water against the rocks, it was soothing, the setting as if from a dream.

The sharp, intoxicating scent of salt-water taffy was redolent in the air. She inhaled, savoring its richness and wishing she could pop a chewy piece into her mouth right now. Goddess, she had a serious sweet tooth. Not a figure friendly past time, that was for sure.

It was strange how fast time had flown by. Mingan had seemed possessed. Not stopping to talk for the rest of the night. After awhile the initial pain had flared down to a dull throb and she had lost herself in the needle and Cian. He hadn’t talked either. Just watched. But with a fascination that she’d swear he’d never seen a tattoo being done before.

It had felt weird to have those intense eyes studying her like she were a rare specimen, but in a way that was oddly endearing.

She gazed at Cian from the corner of her eye. He was leaning over the wooden railing, his eyes shifting around, looking at everything and anything. As if he were searching for someone, or something. She frowned and peeked behind her shoulder.

With the exception of a few lazy seagulls winging through the air, they were pretty much alone on this stretch of pier. A rarity that wouldn’t last.

Was she that boring that he kept looking at everything but her? She cleared her throat and said, “Thanks for coming along. I had fun.”

Finally his gaze rested on her face. The intensity so sharp she felt numb and rooted to the spot. But he still radiated a thread of anxiousness, as if he weren’t comfortable being outside. But then he smiled and she forgot.

“Me too. Does it hurt?” He grazed her clothed back with his finger. Dull pain bloomed at the contact.

She grinned, masochistic enough to not want him to stop. With the pain came the excitement of his touch.

“A little. But it was worth it, it’s finally done and I’m happy.”

Again he looked away, his gaze flicking to that spot where water met sky. An orange hue crested the horizon. The sun was about to come up.

Disheartened, she twisted her lips. Probably why he kept glancing away. She was selfish enough that she didn’t want him to leave, not yet. “I guess you have to go, huh?” she asked.

“Soon. But... how about breakfast?” He turned to look over his shoulder at a salt-water taffy store. “There. You pulse with pleasure every time you glance at it.”

“That obvious, huh?” She narrowed her eyes, cocking her head. “But fangs can’t tolerate food.”

He coughed into his fist, a clearing of the throat sorta thing. Then he gave her a weak grin and said, “Not for me. Just you.”

“Won’t that make you a little queasy to see me eating?”

“I can’t see why.”

“Well, put it that way. I’d swear you’re reading my mind, Cian. I love taffy.”

He shrugged. “I figured you might.”

***

Eve gripped her brown paper sack in her fist, sucking on a peanut butter and jelly flavored taffy. The slightly salty sweet treat gummed up on the roof of her mouth. She wanted to groan it was so delicious. Cian had even helped her pick out a few. He’d looked at the napoleon-flavored taffy with such longing it almost made her feel guilty for buying it.

Almost.

“So,” she said after swallowing the last bit of taffy, “I guess you should be heading back soon.”

He twisted his lips and looked toward the ever-brightening horizon. They were about fifteen minutes away from full sunrise. Not really a problem for vamps, since they could travel at the speed of light. But she had to admit in a very small corner of her heart, that she’d enjoyed his company more than she’d thought possible. So much in fact, that she was going to have to make it through this workday on about three hours of sleep.

Not that she had any regrets.

“Would seem so.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you out so long. Well, maybe just a little,” she shrugged when he laughed, “but when Mingan is in his trance there’s no rushing him.”

He grabbed her wildly swinging hand, his thumb grazing her knuckles. Fire sizzled through her pores.

“I had a good time tonight.”

Her heart jumped into her throat and she couldn’t do more than nod.

“Come on, Eve,” he still held her hand and dragged her behind him, “I’ll walk you home.”

“Maybe I’ll lead, since you don’t know where I live.”

His lips twitched. “Sure.”

She led him away from the business district, deeper into the brickwork jungle of homes and toward a three story Victorian. The outside was a rich ivory. Ivy clung to the siding, its green fingers sliding up toward the triangle shaped roof. People often described her house as a gingerbread house, fitting description. Horizontally narrow and vertically long, with the perpetual chimney on top.

“Well, this is me.”

They stopped and she stepped up on the stoop, facing him. “Big house.”

“Yeah. I wish I could say I own the entire thing, but it’s been renovated into three separate floors. I live in the middle.” She hooked a finger behind her shoulder. Refractive light from a teardrop crystal hung in the window.

He nodded.

“So...” She bit her bottom lip, hoping he’d say something to break the gathering uncertainty. The silence became strained and more uncomfortable as time wore on. A golden wash crested the sky; the warm rays of sun were beginning to descend over the San Francisco Bay.

What was supposed to happen now? Weren’t they just supposed to say goodbye? It’d been so long since she’d dated. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do anymore. Where minutes before she’d felt alive and sexy, bewitching, now she was beginning to feel more and more unsure, like a young girl who’s just glimpsed her first flash of naked flesh.

And speaking of naked flesh...

She peeked at him. A five o’ clock shadow framed the rugged contours of his face. The startling blue of his eyes looked down the street. His shirt molded to the curves of his lean, muscular chest. Memories of him holding her against his body filled her with aching clarity. The slide of muscle against her breast as he’d inhaled, his sharp scent of leather filling her nose.

Her nipples beaded up, pushing against her bra almost painfully. She was hot and achy, her flesh tingling with expectant hope that he’d lean over and kiss her, tongue her, right here in public for all to see.

This was bad. But good. But oh so bad.

She couldn’t help it; she glanced down, wondering what he looked like. Would it be long and veiny, thick and smooth? A wet tide of desire slammed between her thighs, she squeezed them together hoping to stem the flood of need, but it only made it worse. Her heart fluttered a rapid tattoo in her chest.

A small groan spilled from her lips and he turned his gaze to her, they were wild. The pupils dilated. 

Hot pulses of energy flowed from her veins. She knew she was projecting but she didn’t care. Goddess she had to be the easiest lay in the world, no man had to wonder where she stood with them. And she wanted Cian now. But she wouldn’t ask. She still had some pride left.

His eyes bespelled her, she was drowning in them and at the same time wondering whether vamps really could hypnotize just by their gaze. “I had a great time. I ahh have work tomorrow, well today,” she smiled, “but later of course. After I wake up. But if you want to come up for a drink. I’ve got a nice blush I’ve been saving...”

I’m babbling.
The worst part was, the more nervous she got, the worse it became.

“Oh goddess, of course you don’t drink wine. Blood right? Duh. And I don’t want you nibbling on me.” She gave a nervous start. “I mean...”

She rubbed her neck, her face heating scarlet.

He glanced at her feet, his lips twitching. She wanted to groan. The most humiliated she’d ever been, bar none.

Then he stiffened, his gaze shooting past her shoulder. It was creepy, watching his eyes narrow, his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate.

An eerie feeling, like cold fingers running along the back of her neck, made her turn. Elms waved gnarly branches in the wind. A dog yowled, keeping up a steady stream of high-pitched barks. A normal San Francisco day.

But she could see by the look on his face something wasn’t normal. Another feeding vamp maybe, a Were feasting on some bones. What?

“You okay?”

His gaze rolled to her and he smiled. But she knew it was forced. The light didn’t reach his eyes. He rubbed his hand down her arm. “I’m fine. But I’ve really got to go.”

He grabbed her hand and dropped a scorching kiss on her knuckle. It was long and hard with smooth, firm lips. The heat from his mouth transferred to her flesh, raising goosebumps and her temperature.

“Of course you do,” she hissed and leaned closer. An inch stood between her burying her nose in his hair and rubbing herself against him like some horny cat.

Move that kiss further north, or south, she thought wickedly, and I’d be one happy woman.

“See you around, Eve,” he said, turned, and walked away.

It wasn’t until he was out of sight that it hit her. He’d never asked for another date. She’d practically thrown herself at him--
okay who am I kidding? I did throw myself at him, practically begged for some monkey lovin’ and he just walked away.
She was lubed and ready for the pounding of her life.

Eve groaned. She had an itch that needed to be scratched and nobody to do it for her. Frustrated, she growled. “What were you thinking?”

She thunked her head against the door, lifted up and thunked again. Except this time her head didn’t contact with wood but air. Losing her balance, she took a step forward, tripping over the last step. She was falling fast. The polished wood floor loomed before her like a specter out of a nightmare.

Throwing her arms out she braced for the fall, a muffled yelp was trapped in her mouth, her heart in her throat, and a death grip on her bag of taffy.

Thin, surprisingly strong arms grabbed her.

“What the...”

“I got ya. Didn’t know you were standing outside there, Eve. Woulda’ been more careful opening the door.”

Nervously she patted her hair down and waited for the jackhammer stutter of her heart to subside. Dark chocolate eyes stared into her own, a glint, a spark of something burned in their liquid depths.

Her smile slipped with the nervous flutter of wings in her stomach. He looked the same. But the eyes. The eyes, something about them felt wrong. Unconsciously, she took a step back.

An agitated meow echoed in the brightly lit stairwell, breaking her from her trance.

“Mr. Lovelace, oh jeez...” she rubbed a hand across her brow. “You scared me. I was leaning against the door and--”

The bold ebony of his skin crinkled with laugh lines as he adjusted his tweed jacket, brushing out the wrinkles. The uncertainty that had squeezed her heart to the point of pain vanished. This was Curtis.

Just Curtis.

Tired. That’s what it was. But the taste of weird still settled heavy on her tongue.