Black Desire (9 page)

"As you see, I
always wore my hair long, even when it was not the fashion. Well, except for my
service during World War II. Georgiana had the most angelic hair, spun gold,
though you can't tell from that."

Katrina looked up at
him. "This is really you. No facial hair but it is clearly you. You
haven't changed at all." She turned the tintype over and inspected it
closely. "This is not a fake."

"No, it is not.
Neither are the medal nor the other pictures and neither am I. I know we really
don't know each other but I do not lie. Not about something as important as this."
He winced slightly. He did lie to her. He denied having any children. He would
have to tell her of Lucius another time, if he ever got another time with her.

Katrina gazed at him
intensely, her lip trembling. "Why are you telling me all this? We could
have just had a pleasant summer fling and went our separate ways in August with
me none the wiser. I still can't believe—I mean—why are you telling me this,
Tristan?"

He stood close, cupped
her face and looked down at her tremulous lips. He couldn't resist kissing her.
Not the hungry feral kisses of before but a kiss so tender, so reverent, a kiss
that honored everything she was. God, he was in love with her. The ache that
wracked his body and squeezed his heart was the proof. He didn't crush himself
against her, just lovingly caressed her lips. Finally he stepped back.

"Because
Katrina, I had not felt
that
, wanted
to kiss a woman like
that
, since
Georgiana died, all those decades ago. You are my soul."

She pushed at his
chest, the tears falling faster now. "I can't listen to any more, let me
pass, please!"

He spoke the truth.
He was not an animal, not really. Deep down lurked a gentleman at heart and he
would not keep her here against her will. This was all too soon. Perhaps this
discussion should have waited. But the heart knows. Deep down in the depths of
his weary soul, he knew he was a shameless romantic. As hardened and cynical as
he claimed he was, as black and wizened as his heart and desire had become, he
longed to find love again. He took her hands and lifted her tight fists to his
lips. He kissed the whitened knuckles gently.

"Do not dismiss
me, Katrina, or what we share."

She struggled to snatch
her hands away, so he let them go.

"All we have is
hot sex, Tristan. We don't know each other!"

"Something I
wish most fervently to rectify."

She looked up into
his eyes. "The way you speak—you are not lying about any of this, are
you?"

"No. I am not.
Why not sit back down? You must have questions. Stay. All night, if you
wish."

She was shaking her
head. "No, I can't, I need…to think. I don't know how you can be so sure
about me. What if you're wrong about us? I'm so damned confused."

He ached to touch her
and pull her into his embrace to comfort and protect her. He didn't dare. She
was teetering on the edge of the precipice. One wrong move from him and she
would run away, no doubt forever. It explained why just about everyone in the Clan
wasn't in a long-term relationship at the moment. He stepped back.

"Take all the
time you wish, Katrina, but look into your heart. Deep down, you know. It is
not just hot sex. You
know
this."

She lifted a hand and
swiped at a wayward tear. She didn't speak, just turned and walked out the
front door. He followed and closed the door behind her. He stood with his hand
against the door. With his head down, he stayed there long after he heard her
car squeal out of his driveway.

The sun was starting
to set. Tristan flung open the front door and headed toward the back of his
property. He glanced at the small cottage that sat on the border of his land
and his father's. Brennan lived there, his father's man. Brennan took care of
both properties and any other business required by Deegan. He had been with his
father since the 1720's and served on his father's ship,
The Celtic Gale
. In reward for his loyal service Deegan gifted the
man with immortality and turned him into a Vampire at his behest. Tristan
opened the gate and strode toward the private cemetery down by the water.
Brennan also tended to the cemetery, keeping it well manicured and well
appointed. Tristan glanced at the older stones. There were a few of his
father's human mates from centuries long past. Fresh flowers adorned every
tombstone. He wasn't sure if that was Brennan's doing or if his father ever
came here to pay his respects to his lost loves.

Tristan stopped in
front of the large, sandstone obelisk with gothic etchings.

Georgiana Catherine Black. Beloved wife and mother. 1855-1939.

Tristan didn't dare
put his name or Lucius's on the stone. Even though the cemetery was private,
someone could find the stone and make the connection.

He exhaled. It still
was an open wound, this wretched loss. He did not want to fill this family
cemetery with dead lovers or mates of his own. Maybe his father could do it but
he could not. He clenched his fist in frustration. He did not want to
feel…anything. The last few years of Georgiana's life he’d stayed faithful to
her, devoted, loyal and constant.

But since her death
he was like a starving man. He took many a trip into the city to slake his need
for both blood and sex over the decades, especially the latter half of the last
century. Tristan had reveled in the nightlife of the ‘60's-‘90's.

However, it left him
empty and bereft. Deep down he knew he had the capacity to love again. Hell, he’d
promised Georgiana he would.

Tristan came here
every week and laid a red rose at her grave, as it was her favorite flower. He
would never forget that she was gone and he was left to mourn, live in
darkness, and reside in sorrow and misery.

For years while he
was married to Georgiana, he was haunted by a recurring nightmare.
 
He dreamed of leafless, gnarled trees bending
over a monument in a desolate cemetery. He saw himself with his head in his
hands weeping while above the dark stormy clouds moved at breakneck speed
showing the rapid passage of time. The scene seemed so brutally real. Standing
before her grave the realization hit him that his dream had become reality.
Georgiana was gone.

How in the name of
hell could he put himself through this again? A flash of anger clutched his
heart. Damn Katrina for making him feel again.

****

As she drove down the
highway, Katrina began to laugh, a maniacal, crazed laugh that only those in
strait jackets indulged in. This was a dream, some twisted nightmare.
Dhampyre.
Might as well be some elf or
goblin for all that meant to her. She tried not to drive too fast as it was
only a few kilometers back to Greg's. In spite of her snarky comments, she
believed him. When he showed her the tintype and the medal, the truth was in
his voice and in his tortured eyes. She couldn't deny it, so she accepted it. Now
what? She was his
soul
? The mark on
her breast burned. Damn him! He not only tasted her, he marked her.
Territorial bastard.
There was more of
his kind all over the world? That information she didn't need to know. She was
happier in quiet ignorance. Going forward, she would be looking at every person
on the street, wondering. God, why did he have to be everything she wanted in a
man? Okay, so he had this thing about blood. Was he immortal? Yes, she had more
questions but she couldn't handle any more tonight. Oh God, the sex.
 
Just being near Tristan turned her into a
raging nymphomaniac. Did he cast some spell on her? Obviously.

The radio hummed
inoffensively in the background. Her cousin! Did he know about his so-called
friend? She was tempted to drive to Greg's pub, walk in and kick his ass,
because she would bet he knew plenty. He never said a word. No warning. But Katrina
wanted a hot bubble bath more. She could wait until he got home to kick his ass
and pepper him with questions. She needed a drink as well. Or three.

She turned down
Greg's street. Her head was pounding, the type of pain that felt as if one’s
head was going to blow off. Yes, hot bath, cold drink and cool sheets. She was
emotionally drained and exhausted. What she should do is stuff her clothes in
her suitcase and hightail it to the Halifax International Airport and not look
back.

Parking her car she snapped
off the ignition, wearily climbed out of the car and slammed the door. She
walked toward the entrance and fumbled with her keys. A deep voice called out
behind her.

"Good evening,
Katrina."

She didn't even have
time to turn around before she felt a needle enter her neck. Immediate
dizziness washed over her and her legs gave out. A strong arm kept her upright,
and then blackness descended.

Chapter Seven

Katrina's eyes
fluttered rapidly. Everything was hazy and the room spun. What room? She lifted
her head and looked around. Hell of a nice room wherever it was, all muted
colors and expensive furniture. Her hand spread out. She was lying on a queen
size bed with a satin comforter, a big ass brass bed like something out of a
Tennessee Williams play. Before she could even sit up, the door opened.

Devlin Steele.

"Good evening,
Katrina, or should I say morning as it is now one a.m.?"

She groaned as she
sat up. She touched her neck.

"What have you
done?"

"I need you as a
little insurance. I have a pending deal with Tristan Black. This should encourage
his immediate cooperation." Devlin wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I
smell him all over you. You had sex with that half-breed Vampire recently,
didn't you?"

"I am here
because of Tristan?" she croaked.

"I notice you
did not even flinch when I mentioned the word ‘Vampire.’ How delicious he told
you of his life-state and so soon after you met. He is quite smitten, just as I
surmised."

Katrina couldn't
believe this. "Is that why you approached me at the pub? No, wait a
minute, Tristan and I had not even gone out yet."

Devlin walked to the
foot of the bed, and his fingers gripped the large brass footboard.

"He was
interested the first night, even when dancing with the other woman. It was you
he was thinking of. You, he wanted."

Katrina's jaw dropped
open. "How can you know that? What
are
you? Are you one of them, Vampires?"

Devlin visibly
shuddered. "God, no. I am something else entirely. Vampires are not the
only entities in the Shadow World. You humans live in such ignorance."

"I want to live
there again. Please, let me go. I don't want any part of this." Her voice
quivered. The shock of coming out of a drug-induced haze caused real fright to
seep into her bones.
 
Devlin came toward her
and she instinctively skittered away from him on the bed.

"Come, Katrina,
stand over here. Now."

She didn't want to
anger this guy, so she did. He grasped her shoulders and his touch was
surprisingly warm, not aggressive. He stood behind her and whispered in her
ear.

"Look straight
ahead and do not move. I will show you what I am."

Katrina trembled and looked
straight ahead. She heard a zipper lower. God, was he undressing?

A minute later he
walked in front of her and stood completely naked. She hadn't even seen Tristan
completely nude yet. This man had the most perfect, astounding body.
 
Her eyes could not help but be drawn to the
huge cock that lay between his legs. As big as Tristan or bigger if that were
possible. She saw his cock twitch and grow hard under her gaze. She lifted her
head and turned away.

"Ah. I said to
look straight ahead, Katrina." His voice was low and husky but there was
no mistaking the menace lurking under his deep, luxurious tones. So she did.

"Now. Straight
ahead."

He walked around her
in a big circle. The next time he came into her eye line, there was no human
male there but a large, brown wolf.

She screamed.

Next time something
came into her line of vision it was him in human form.

"See how quickly
I can change? Matter of a few seconds. I am a Thrope, a wolf shape-shifter.
Look straight ahead."

He walked behind her again.
Katrina trembled even more.
Thrope.
Wolf.
Oh God, what had she stumbled into
here?

Sure enough, a wolf
padded around her side and verbalized in a low growl but it wasn't threatening
from what she could tell. The thing stopped. Its snout nudged her hand and she
pulled it away as if she had been scalded.
 
The wolf barked but she could detect no
danger, so she lowered her hand. The wolf nuzzled her with his head—it wanted
to be petted? The fur was soft to the touch so she ran her hand around his ear
and rubbed. Before she could even blink, there was a man standing where the
wolf was. Her hand was no longer rubbing a wolf's ear but was dangerously near
his fully erect cock. She snatched her hand back again and tried to look
nonchalantly at the ceiling.