Demon's Hunger (4 page)

Was that a criticism? "I'm not exactly on sabbatical," she snapped defensively. "It's more of a… break."

Those cool, gray eyes met hers, flat as poured concrete, and his brows rose at her tone. She instantly felt ridiculous.

She'd needed the break. She'd been the chief forensic anthropologist in the investigation of the ostrich farm belonging to Roger Pape farmer, recluse… mass murderer. She'd examined almost forty thousand pieces of bone fragments on that investigation, the remains of thirty-five dead women. Murdered women.

Then she'd gone through the lengthy process of Pape's trial.

When it was all over, she'd had her first
episode
, lost twelve hours. A few months later, she'd lost another twelve, and that had been enough motivation to make her arrange for some time off.

She'd considered several universities for a sabbatical, but in the end, she'd decided to stay right here in her own little house. Read some novels. Enjoy long walks. Maybe take that watercolor course she'd always wanted to. Her year-long break had begun last Monday. Her mother had arrived from the West Coast on Friday. Araminta's timing could not have been worse, but Vivien had only herself to blame for that. Her mother was nothing if not predictable.

Then last night, Vivien had blacked out for a third time. Lost another twelve hours of her life. Combine that with the feeling that someone was watching her from the shadows, and she was scared. Scared for her grasp on reality. Paranoia was a symptom of numerous conditions, none of them good.

She studied the guy on her porch, the long black duster, the set of his broad shoulders, the build that the layers of clothing couldn't quite hide. The look on his face clearly stated he wasn't afraid of a damn thing.

He was watching the trees again, his expression vigilant.

"Your friends… Ciarran and Darqun, right? Where did they go?"

"Hunting." Dain smiled, a bare curving of his lips, and turned his face partially toward her.

"Excuse me?"

As he quirked one brow, something clicked in her memory, a key turning in a lock. The enigmatic expression, the sexy smile, the three-quarter view of his face, the slightly flamboyant way he dressed; he looked just like every photo of him that she'd ever seen published.

She gave an incredulous little huff of laughter. "You're Dain Hawkins."

His smile warmed, as though they shared a secret. "Am I?"

Vivien shook her head at his tone, realizing that he'd introduced himself already. "No, I mean, I've seen your picture in the paper. You're Dain Hawkins, wonder-guy, a magician when it comes to buying up foundering companies and turning them into moneymakers."

"Magician." He grimaced, inclined his head. "I prefer
sorcerer
or
mage of illusion
!"

"Oookay. So what's a celebrity doing on my doorstep?" He looked startled by her question, and she clenched her fingers, then forced them straight. "God… sorry… That was rude. My social graces are a little rusty." Stepping back, she held the door. "Would you like to come in?"

"Thank you." He moved past her, broad shoulders, lean muscle. Her pulse picked up speed. She could smell the scent of his body, clean, masculine, a hint of lime, and it tantalized her, made her want to lean in close and breathe deep, lick his naked skin, sink her teeth into—

Huh
. Okay, she needed to get a grip. This was
way
outside her norm.

But he was so hot, and she was… hungry, desperate to touch him, kiss him, rub against him until—

Her head snapped back, and she found him watching her with the strangest expression, his smile dark, predatory. Like he knew her thoughts… and shared them.

Nothing much had changed since New Orleans, Dain thought with a solid dose of self-effacing humor. He was still horny and still in possession of a partially scorched demon bone.

Only now he wasn't alone.

Vivien Cairn was with him, and she was staring at his mouth, her gaze intent. She exhaled, harsh, fast, the sound sinking into him, kindling a sharp awareness.

He cut a quick glance to the shape of her breasts, the hint of taut nipples outlined beneath the fitted black T-shirt. No bra.

Okay, he probably shouldn't look, but he wasn't a goddamned eunuch. And she was beautiful. Tall, slim. Her ratty, faded jeans hugged her hips and thighs. She had an athlete's build, all sleek, toned muscle, long limbs, amazing brea—

Don't go there.

His gaze dropped to her feet. Neon green fuzzy slippers. He smiled.

"So what brings you all this way, Mr. Hawkins?" she asked, her tone professional, impersonal, a little breathless. Sexy.

He studied her for a minute, judging her sincerity, and he realized that she honestly didn't recall speaking with him last night, setting up this meeting. Weird.

"Dain," he corrected.

She nodded, offered her hand. "Vivien."

He took her hand, a brief touch, and he felt her tremble. Stepping back, he let his hand drop in direct opposition to what his instinct encouraged. He wanted to draw her close, to touch her, to taste her. Nothing gentle.

An image crashed through him of backing her up against the wall and pressing his weight down on her, his mouth open on hers.

Demon magic, enticing and forbidden, swirled up in sultry temptation, rising from the scorched bone he carried with him, combining with the quieter thrum of the
hybrids'
weaker power that he had sensed when standing on her porch. He was surprised that their aura had penetrated the dark cloud cast by the demon bone.

Maybe he'd just picked up his comrades' tension, because Ciarran and Darqun had sensed the hybrids, too, and they'd gone off to investigate.

Leaving him with Vivien Cairn.

Alone
with her.

Temptation, temptation.

But there was something more here, more powerful than mere hybrids, something Dain couldn't identify.

A full-blooded demon in the vicinity?

He couldn't be sure. The damned demon bone with its malevolent aura obscured his senses, and its power had only grown stronger since he'd started carrying around the charm bag he'd picked up in New Orleans.

Like they were linked somehow. Or was that just his suspicion?

He needed answers.

Why were the hybrids after these little bags of bones? He needed to know what the hell was going on, what he was up against, and Vivien Cairn just might be able to help him out with that. She was a bone specialist, after all.

His gaze slid to hers. She was watching him, studying him, casting surreptitious glances at his mouth, his chest, his legs. Wanting him, but making an effort to hide it.

Nice to know he wasn't the only one affected.

"I have a bone that I'd like you to look at." He winced as he realized the dual implication of his words. Smooth, very smooth.

Her eyes widened. Beautiful eyes, almond tipped, intelligent. A sheen of translucent gold over dark moss green, blending to an alluring hazel. There was a whisper of shadow there, a hint of worry and fear.

Damn. He was a sucker for a damsel in distress.

And she was that. He'd checked her out before approaching her, not just her credentials in forensic anthropology—though those were impressive enough—but everything he could find. The pieces fit together to create a very interesting whole.

Vivien Cairn was brilliant. Tough. Independent. And she'd known her share of losses: Her dad had left when she was small. Her high school boyfriend had been killed in a horrific car crash.

He knew those things about her, and they made him wonder who the woman was underneath the cool, professional mien. He'd been able to watch a couple of interviews with her on the Internet, and she'd come across as very focused, very reserved.

Definitely different than she was in person. The heat she put off made a pulsing coil of lust settle in his groin.

The silence spun out, taut, nerve-racking.

She reached up, caught a wispy strand of hair by her right ear, and tugged on it, like she expected it to be longer.

"I like your hair," he said, giving up on finesse. He did. It was a short, dusky cap, coffee brown-black, with a faint touch of red. Mahogany. The spikes and wisps accentuated the curve of her cheekbones. He wanted to shove his fingers through her hair, muss it up even more as he kissed her.

He blinked. What the hell was wrong with him? It was as if she were a magnet and he a metal rod.

"Oh!" Her hand dropped, and she smiled just a little. "I just had it cut. It used to be a boring bob. I needed a change." She shook her head, pressed her lips together, clearly bemused by her rambling answer.

He liked that, too.

Rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, Dain tried to figure out why this conversation was not going at all as he had planned, why this woman's presence muddled his thoughts.

It had seemed a simple matter to find Dr. Cairn, ask her expert opinion, and leave. Wipe her memory if she suspected he was anything other than he claimed, though he'd take that course only if necessary. Some humans didn't do too well when sorcerers messed with their minds, and he had an aversion to stealing memories. Perhaps because his own were so precious to him.

Problem was, from the second he'd arrived, nothing had been simple. Something about this place—or perhaps Vivien herself—made the damned bone in his pocket come to life with a surge of demonic power. Made
him
come to life in a way he hadn't in a very long time. From the instant she'd opened her door and muttered something about flying fish, Vivien Cairn had intrigued him. Something about her drew him, snared him.

The realization made the bitter brine of guilt surge in his gut, tinged by time-tempered grief.

His wife, Moria, dead by demon hand, and Ciel, his baby daughter, with her.

Centuries had passed, and the pain had dimmed, but not his terrible, burning hatred of demon-kind. And not his guilt. Because he hadn't been there, hadn't saved them. Hadn't died alongside them.

Moria and Ciel had been human. He'd had no right to love them, no right to drag them into his world, his war.

And he had no business being intrigued by Vivien Cairn. He'd long ago decided that a relationship with a mortal was off-limits.

He wasn't a monk, but when he chose to spend a night with a woman, it was always just that. One night. He picked his partners with care to ensure that there were no strings. No expectations.

But from what he'd found out about intelligent, reserved, analytical Vivien, he figured she wasn't the one-night type. Which meant she wouldn't be
any
night, because he had nothing more than that to offer, especially not to a mortal woman who would age and die or, like Moria, be slaughtered by demons before her time.

Demons or
hybrids
, like the ones hovering about Vivien's property. Had they been here already, or had they followed his SUV? The possibility that he'd brought them to her definitely did not sit well with him.

"May I take your coat?" she asked, her gaze sliding over him.

"No, thanks." He figured that the demon bone in his pocket best stay as close to him as possible.

His gaze met hers, and he saw shadows there. Shadows and worry.

For centuries, he had battled and bled, known both honor and betrayal. He had sealed any breach in the wall between dimensions, held back the demon threat. He was charged with the protection of all mankind.

He was sorcerer, protector, mage of illusion.

He would not allow himself to be drawn to this woman, to forfeit his control, no matter how great the temptation to save her from whatever caused the shadows he read in her eyes.

No matter that the color of them reminded him of the cool, dark forest.

No matter that he was so very tired of being alone.

For a heartbeat, Vivien just stood there staring at Dain, wondering what to do next. His expression had turned cold, aloof. In that instant, he looked like a completely different man than the one who had stood on her front porch and smiled at her.

So which was the real guy? The smiling, relaxed charmer or the detached observer?

On a sharp inhalation, she forced herself to move, to turn toward the living room. Recalling the spilled soup and shattered mug, she froze, hesitated.

"We can go downstairs." She turned away from the living room and led him to her basement work area. After all, he was here for her professional services, not a social visit.

A glance cast over her shoulder assured her that he was real, here, in her home. He caught her gaze, and she saw shrewd intelligence there, measuring her, studying her.

Well, that was a turnaround. She found it a little unnerving to be the subject rather than the observer.

Sliding onto the stool beside her workbench, Vivien indicated the second stool. Dain considered it, and then her, as though he thought one of them might leap up and bite him. He didn't sit.

She cleared her throat. "You said something about a bone?"

"Yes. I'd like your opinion on this." He took a cloth-wrapped bundle from the pocket of his coat and carefully unwrapped it before handing it to her. "I found it in a field about twenty miles northeast of here."

She thought there was more to the story than that, and she thought he wouldn't tell her, even if she asked. Reaching for a pair of gloves out of habit, she snapped them on. Their fingers touched as she took the bone from him, and even through the latex, a charge of electricity leaped between them.

Unnerved, she dropped her gaze, studied the object in her hand. She had to stretch her fingers to encompass the whole of it.

Definitely bone. One side blackened by fire, hot enough to scorch but not hot enough to incinerate.

Frowning, she turned it carefully in her hands. "It's not human…" And yet, it almost was. "The anatomy suggests this animal walks plantigrade" she glanced at him and explained" on a flattened foot, rather than digigrade."

"Digigrade?"

"That means on their toes, like dogs or cats."

Her pulse was strong, loud, pumping a hot current of blood through her veins. The bone in her hand
spoke
to her. Powerful. Raw. Calling something inside of her.

Her gaze snapped to Dain, to his hard, sexy mouth, drawn taut. A bolt of raw attraction jolted through her, inappropriate, unwelcome.

Frig, not
now
.

Mortification slapped her. Inexplicable yearning was one more symptom of whatever was slowly driving her mad. Lately, along with the lapses in time, she'd been subject to these escalating sexual urges, fantasies of an unknown shadow lover. They were so powerful, frightening, hitting her at unexpected times, leaving her gasping.

When she'd first recognized what was happening, that the variations to her personality were becoming more intense, more frequent, she'd documented the changes, creating a spreadsheet to follow the pattern. At first, the desires had been weekly, escalating to daily. It had gotten progressively worse. For the past few days, she'd been hard-pressed to keep all her waking thoughts away from fantasies of a nameless, faceless lover.

Only now he had a face. A name. Dain Hawkins.
Oh, God
.

She wanted to kiss him, suck on his lower lip, bite his skin, taste him, salt and man. Hot, lush, she wanted that, craved it, the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of him flexing above her, pumping into her.

Heat pounded through her, spiraling up, feeding dark, sultry imaginings of him naked against her, skin to hot skin, hard male muscle. She tore her gaze away.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God
. What was
wrong
with her?

The bone almost slid from her hand, and she set it on the table with scrupulous care.

"Sorry," she mumbled, panic biting at her with sharp little teeth. "Sorry."

He was watching her so closely, as though he sensed there was something very wrong. "You look ill," he said, not solicitous, just an observation.

"Some water. From the kitchen. Up the stairs to the left," she murmured, desperate to be alone for just a moment, to catch her breath, to get her thoughts and her cranked libido under control. Get him away from her before she ripped off her clothes, and his, and yanked him close so she could lick him and suck him…

Heat spiraled through her.

Until recently, she'd never felt this way.
Never
. In fact, she'd spent most of her adult life wondering if her libido was abnormally low.

"Water. Please," she whispered urgently.

His gaze slid to the bone on the table, then back to her. He reached for it, closed his hand around it. Turning away, he strode up the stairs. She watched him go, her gaze riveted on the way his body moved as he walked. A hard kick of lust stole her breath.