The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) (28 page)

He tensed, knowing immediately of whom she spoke.

“He said the weirdest thing.”

His fingers twitched. “What was that?”

“It wasn’t so much what he said, but how he said it.” A noticeable shiver traveled down her spine. Their eyes locked as she wet her lips. “He said that life is not a given and to enjoy it, because it won’t last.”

Dagda had been bold. Eve couldn’t know just how close to the truth that statement had been. She looked like a fragile doll with her black hair caught up in a ponytail, small strands curling around her face. Her face was free of makeup and had a scrubbed, pink tint to it. The effect made her look so vulnerable, child-like even.

He couldn’t help himself. He touched the crook of her arm and pulled her slightly closer. Now they were breath on breath, body heat to body heat. The air around them charged with the snapping force of their desire.

“And what do you think about that?” he asked.

“At first...” she licked her lips, “that he was crazy. But there was power to those words, a conviction that stopped me from dismissing him.”

Eve slid her hand up his arm. His body screamed. His nerves strained from restraining his need to yank her into his arms and crush her to him.

Though he’d had a taste of her, it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t sure he would ever have enough where she was concerned. He wanted this woman with a ferocity that rivaled the Queen for blood lust.

“Do you want to come home with me tonight?”

His mind running on feelings, and not on thought, he said the only thing he could.

“Yes.”

***

Cian walked around Eve’s living room. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe something dark and more in keeping with her witchy trait, but the room was primarily shades of white and tan with the greenery of plants adding a splash of color here and there.

She’d excused herself to the bedroom to change; leaving him alone with thoughts that had turned suddenly crippling.

When she was around him, flashing that smile, it was as if all commonsense fled. It was so easy to forget that he was something other than death.

That he wasn’t the vampire she thought him to be, a man free to tie his heart to hers and if it didn’t work out, also able to go their separate ways. No harm, no foul.

Their predicament laid heavy on his mind. And again he came to the only possible conclusion he’d come to the other day while talking to Lise. He knew what she’d said.
Don’t do it. Don’t even contemplate it.
But the idea had merit. Dangerous. Stupid, yes. But merit nonetheless. And with the way time was running out, his options were incredibly limited. What did he have to lose? Nothing. And in return, Eve would have a lifetime to live. That was all he wanted. All he’d ever wanted for her. Happiness.

Eve had given him a gift. The rare peace he’d sought his entire existence. It was his turn to return the favor. Only with Eve had he ever felt a true connection. The fact that he cared whether she was mad, happy, or sad, spoke volumes.

Tomorrow all hell would be unleashed. The truth of who he was would have to be revealed. All he wanted to do was forget, have this final night with her. But he couldn’t let her find out by accident. As much as the thought galled, he had to be a man and tell her himself.

He rubbed his chest, a bitter taste in his mouth. If he could give her back her old life, her husband--regardless of the numbing pain that thought caused--he would. He’d do it all just to see her as happy as he had that very first day.

She walked into the living room wearing a pink tank top, black silk sleeping pants, and a smile. “Sorry I took so long. Sister called. I swear that woman has a sixth sense about me. She just knew I had a visitor and wanted to know who, when, and where.” She ticked it off on her fingers.

Goddess, but she took his breath away when she looked at him like that. A sexy beneath the lashes glance.

“Aye? And which sister was that?” His voice came out thick and heavy with Irish inflections. It was a sure sign that he was slowly losing his composure.

She bit the side of her lip. “Have I told you how sexy that burr is? I’ve always had a fascination with accents.”

“Did Michael have one?”

He clenched his jaw the second the words left his mouth and the light went out her eyes. There he went again, self-destructing. But it was all he knew. His kind didn’t mingle. They didn’t show emotion and
never
fell in love. There was no room for that, it couldn’t happen. And he was dangerously, close--teetering on the edge of the cliff.

Truth was, for another night in her arms, he was tempted to forsake his heart, and spend an eternity berserk with grief.

“No. He didn’t,” she said and shook her head. Then she turned toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna make me some chamomile tea. I’ve got a baggie of blood in the fridge. Take it if you’re hungry. I’m not squeamish about that stuff.”

He couldn’t help but smile. She’d been prepared. “I’ve fed. Thanks.”

She grinned and sat the kettle to boil. “No problem.”

A conflicting miasma of emotions assaulted him. He wanted to both stay and leave at the same time. He was no fool. Tonight was more than games on the beach or holding her while she slept or even having a taste of her passion. There’d been heat in her eyes, the tension between them demanding they make a decision. Eve was making her move and he was tempted. More than he’d ever imagined being possible. He needed to stay busy and focus on something other than her.

Shadow boxes filled with a sculpted menagerie of mythic creatures lined the walls, from dragons to unicorns, mermaids to centaurs. He picked up a figurine of a mermaid perching on a rock, prisms of light shot through its amber colored skin.

He sensed her behind him before she said anything. It was like every nerve in his body was attuned to her, sparking and crackling when she came near him.

“I’m ridiculously addicted to amber.” Her soft voice was a mere whisper.

He heard the tick tock of a clock, the bubbling steam building in the kettle and the inhalations of her breath. He turned, misjudging how close to him she stood, and knocked into her.

She stumbled back a step and his hand shot out, grasping her elbow and keeping her steady. She placed her hand against his chest, her lioness gaze holding his.

“Thanks.”

He nodded and sat the figurine down on the television stand, never breaking eye contact.

Her hands slipped up his forearm. Fire raced a path across his flesh at her gentle touch.

“Eve.” Her name came out a throaty whisper, full of longing and desire.

She bunched the fabric of his shirt beneath her fingers and drew up on tiptoe. She brushed her nose against his neck, her breath created a warm, tickling sensation. Hot shivers coursed through his veins, turning his blood to molten lava. He hissed and drew her closer, molding her body to his.

“What is it about you?” she whispered into the hollow of his throat and then nipped him. “One taste just isn’t enough. You’re an addiction, a craving I can’t get out of my system.”

His heart thundered, rolling vibrations traveled through his veins, making him alive and needy for more. He growled low and traced a path down her spine.

She flicked out her tongue, tasting him with the just the tip. “Mmmm.”

His hands shifted to her backside, his burgeoning erection heavy between them.

“Ah. Goddess,” she moaned, her head on his shoulder. “It’s been so long.”

Adrenaline spiked through his brain. Eve was giving voice to everything he felt but couldn’t say. He picked her up; his hands gripped her backside and he reversed positions, pushing her against the wall. His legs planted shoulder length apart. She was at his mercy.

Eve slanted her lips against his, tasting, touching. Then she bit down. Dull pain bloomed at the contact. A wild heat traveled through his blood, bringing out the monster, the whipping lust.

He tore himself away from her. She opened fogged filled eyes, staring at him in confusion. A rumble tore past his lips as the slithering madness crept in. He hadn’t known a woman in centuries, the loss of that touch making him feral with need.

He trembled, his breathing haggard. She didn’t know the truth. If they did this now she’d never forgive him. He fought the wild animal inside, but couldn’t pull away. Not just yet.

He dipped his head, tasting her throat.

“Cian.” She massaged his scalp. His body flared to life, the nerve endings sensitive and excited. “I love your hair. I want to roll in it,” she moaned.

He scraped the side of her neck with his fangs and inhaled the sweetness of her flesh, closing his eyes in ecstasy.

She pulled the leather thong from his hair. The heavy strands fell free. She gripped tight and pulled him even closer. Pain flared down his skull at her rough grip, heightening his excitement all the more. To see her need so raw and exposed. His stomach clenched and his muscles quivered. Everything inside him was aware of her, of her scent, her taste, her touch.

Their lips were so close, breath passed between them. His lungs filled with her scent of mint. If he were a good man he’d stop this. But he wasn’t a man, and he’d never confessed to being good.

With a growl, he covered her mouth with his. He licked and nibbled her lips, coaxing with his tongue to let him in. She opened a fraction, her hum of approval shot straight through his chest like an arrow.

The world narrowed down to just them. Nothing existed outside of it. He was aware only of the roar of his blood. The rapid beat of his heart, and her soft purrs of approval.

Her tongue darted into his mouth, dueling with his.

His hands roamed her body. Grabbing her breasts and kneading, rolling the nipples between his fingers until she groaned. The leather of his glove yet again coming between the touch of flesh on flesh. Frustrated, he snarled, “Tell me what you want, Eve?”

Her hand snaked a path down his chest, over his stomach and lower still. She was so close to his engorged manhood that he could feel the heat of her hand poised above him. He grabbed her wrist. “What do you want?”

“You. Goddess, I want you,” she panted, slamming her mouth down on his again.

He growled with approval, knowing she’d be able to handle the primal and aggressive nature of mating with death. Also knowing she wanted this as fiercely as he did. Grabbing the edge of her shirt, he lifted it up and over her head, throwing it to the ground.

“Take the gloves off,” she whispered against his lips, grinding her hips down harder.

It was like a slap of cold water. A reminder. He clenched his jaw. A shrill, discordant whistle peeled through the room, startling them both and making him jump, almost dropping Eve in the process. Only through sheer will was he able to keep a tenuous hold on her upper arms until she firmly regained her footing.

His muscles strained. Every nerve exposed and raw, one touch of her hand over his hard length and he’d have spiraled into orgasm. It took him a moment to get back into the here and now; his mind still reeled with chaotic emotions that demanded attention
now
. A twisting, tightening of his gut. He heaved for breath, trying to regain control.

Her eyes were wide. Her lips bee stung, and cheeks a crisp pink. Tendrils of hair framed her face, giving her a disheveled, thoroughly ravaged look.

The tension between them was hot, vibrant, and alive.  

His arms felt heavy for want of her, his body crying out for release. Her pink tongue slid along the edge of her bottom lip.

“The water,” he said, as the piercing wail continued.

“I don’t care.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Kiss me again.”

The plea was not one he could ignore. As he lowered his head the quicksilver recognition of his ilk traveled along his flesh and made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. He gripped her arms, staring out the window that led into the fire escape. The night was thick with darkness, but he knew. He’d sensed death. She still had time. Dammit. She still had time.

A loud knock sounded on the door.

He stiffened and she pulled back with narrowed eyes. “Who would be knocking on my door at 11:30 at night?”

The tingling rush of reaper was gone. But the tight band in his chest didn’t loosen its grip. There was someone about it and he had to investigate. “Let me answer the door, Eve.”

She nodded mutely. Pulled on her top and patted at the flyaway curls.

He stalked to the door and opened it.

“Oh!” she cried, startled.

A set of brown eyes stared back at him.

“Curtis?” Eve rushed up, grabbing onto the back of Cian’s shirt.

Cian glanced around the low-lit hallway, a sense of unease eating away at him. He had to investigate. Search out Frenzy. It had to be him. Death was lurking. In his gut he knew it to be true, even though he could no longer sense the reaper. He knew. He just knew.

“I should go...”

“Oh no, wait. Umm, Curtis...”

It pained him to leave her side, especially now. But he couldn’t stay here while a killer lingered. He had to find Frenzy. He leaned in and planted a whisper soft kiss against her lips. “It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Empty promises.

***

And just like that she watched him walk away. Her heart shattered, why had he left that way? The incessant wail, like a colicky infant drummed through her ears. She stomped toward the stove, finally shutting the stupid kettle off.

“I’m so sorry,” Curtis said, taking a step in.

She wanted to snarl, to snap at him. Here he was saying he was sorry and yet he’d still walked in, ruining what had promised to be the best night of her life.

Ready to verbally rip him a new one, she glanced at him, and instantly felt her anger deflate. He looked pale and white around the mouth, unshed tears shining in his eyes.

For the moment Cian’s abrupt departure took a back seat. “Curtis, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Samhain anywhere. There’s a storm coming and I’m worried,” he said, voice cracking.

It took everything she had in her not to scream. She was a witch and sensitive to the witch/familiar plight, but it didn’t mean she had to like the fact that Curtis’ knock had sent Cian running for the hills. And just what the hell was that all about? She was tired. Sick at heart. Horny. Damn, she was really horny.