Diana's Hound: Bloodhounds, Book 4 (7 page)

“I’m glad. How have things been?”

Grace linked their arms together and steered her toward the saloon. “As well as can be expected. The rich aren’t coming back, which has been a bit of a blessing. The survivors have their pick of fine houses, and everyone’s helped the farmers with the end of the harvest. But the real boon has been Archer’s fellow bloodhounds. They’ve been stopping here and trading coin and goods for rest and companionship.”

It made sense, Diana supposed. The town had been a safe haven for her, and now it could be the same for other bloodhounds, the ones who’d drifted far from the Guild. “I’ve been spending my time letting other hounds punch me in the face. Remarkably, the job of rebuilding sounds even less fun than that.”

“You know, I don’t mind it,” Grace said. “I’ve spent so much of my life managing people, and it’s simply more of that. Except instead of manipulating them into giving up what’s precious to them, I’m urging them to work toward a common goal to benefit us all. It feels good.”

“Then we’re both happy.” Only a little lie on Diana’s part. She relished the new challenges she’d found in Iron Creek, and she
was
happier than she’d ever been…but she wasn’t as euphoric as Grace. “Where’d Archer run off to?”

“Oh, he and Mr. Powell are discussing things too illicit for a lady’s ears.” Grace wrinkled her nose. “I left to put Mr. Powell out of his misery. I was afraid he’d have a fit at the thought of discussing frank sexual matters with me in the room.”

“He’s reserved, that’s all,” Diana said absently. “What in blazes are they talking about?”

“Contacts in the Deadlands. It seems the vampire you’re meant to meet runs a very exclusive, very carnal sort of establishment.”

“I see.” The last place Nate would want to visit with her in tow. “Does Archer think it a suitable place for us—I mean, for me to pass the new moon?”

“Yes, I heard that much. He thinks the owner is predictable and dependable, if not exactly trustworthy. More interested in hedonism than violence.”

Diana wondered if he’d also told Nate there would be men there who would entertain her company. “Then we can kill two birds with one stone. Specialized lodgings
and
information.”

“Mmm.” Grace pulled her to a stop in the shadow of the saloon. “Diana, are you sure going into the Deadlands with him is wise? I know better than anyone how capable you are of caring for yourself, and I
know
he’s a legend when it comes to creating weapons. But if you’re not careful, he’ll give away any ruse. He can’t keep his feelings for you out of his eyes.”

Oh, God preserve her. “He’s been reading Doc’s journals. He feels sorry for me.” Diana had to look away. “He’s also been saddled anew with the libidinous impulses of a man half his age. The two things are unrelated, trust me.”

Grace sighed. “If you say so. But I’ve never known you to hide from hard truths.”

Diana managed a shrug, but the smile she attempted wouldn’t come. “It just so happens, that
is
the hard truth.”

“Oh.” Grace closed her arms around her, a gesture of comfort and support. “I’m sorry. You’ve always been able to keep everything out of your eyes.”

Because she had to, now more than ever. “I’m all right. I’ll be fine.”

“You promise. Promise me, Diana.” Grace’s embrace turned desperate. “And if you need help, you send for it. Your best friend is a professional liar mated to a bank-robbing bloodhound.”

“I swear to send word if we need you.” If they had a chance in hell of arriving in time. If it wasn’t too dangerous.
If.
“Now, I want a drink.”

Grace let it drop and stepped back with a smile. “Are you sure you’re prepared for the saloon? I moved all the girls to the banker’s house, and Cecil and Cook have turned the saloon into an inn.”

“A respectable establishment?” Diana affected a shudder. “How could they?”

“Well, it’s not entirely respectable.” Grace pulled open the door to reveal even more bright, garish lights than had been there the last time.

And there, right in the middle of the damn room, stood Nate. He stared at her, both eyebrows up. “Diana.”

“Nate.” Her pulse quickened, something he could surely hear.

Perhaps everyone else could too. Nate stared at her in silence as Archer shifted uncomfortably. Even the handful of people milling about the dining room seemed to quiet.

Finally, Grace choked on a laugh. “Come, Diana. Did you want a drink or not?”

“Whiskey,” she answered, keeping her gaze locked with Nate’s. “It’s been a long day.”

He looked away first. “We almost came looking for you when you didn’t return. I wondered if you’d found someplace else to pass the evening.”

It stung. “I had an offer. I prefer the whiskey.”

“I see.” Only two words, but he almost seemed pleased.

Archer eyed them with interest, and Diana bared her teeth at him before accepting a glass from Grace. “Don’t worry, Nate. I’m not getting distracted. I’ll be ready to ride on first thing in the morning.”

Grace pursed her lips and propped her hands on her hips, the same posture that always preceded her wrangling misbehaving school children. “Why don’t we all sit down? I’ll pop into the back and let Cook know you’re here, Diana. She prepared your favorite.”

Diana drained half her drink before sliding into the chair Archer pulled out for her. “Thank you.”

“A peace offering,” he answered. “So you don’t bite me when you find out.”

“About our destination?” She absolutely couldn’t look at Nate, not with a good ounce of whiskey already humming through her veins. “I heard.”

Nate was staring straight ahead again, but this time he was doing a damn good job of staring through her. “Having a place to stay where we can trust our host—to some extent, in any case—will decrease the risk of our endeavor. It’s dangerous enough to go out and about in a city like Eternity as it is.”

“Agreed.” She finished her drink and turned to Archer. “Will your friend be able to help me make arrangements for the new moon?”

He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth, his ears turning red. “Everyone there will be aware of your nature
and
wholly dedicated to the pursuit of physical pleasure. I doubt you’ll lack for companionship.”

Nate glowered, and a muscle in his jaw jumped. So he didn’t like that—presumably because she could be hurt, Heaven forbid, or because he still pictured her as the mostly innocent young widow painted in Doc’s journals.

“Good,” she found herself saying. “The more the merrier, right?”

Archer spewed whiskey across the table.

“Good heavens.” Grace reappeared, a bewildered look on her face. “Archer?”

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and wheezed out a laugh. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.” He lunged out of his chair and headed for the bar.

Grace hovered, clearly torn between staying to protect Diana and following Archer to find out what was going on.

“It’s all right,” Diana murmured. “A poorly timed joke, that’s all.”

“All right,” Grace said reluctantly. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She turned toward the bar, and Nate watched her go before glaring at Diana, his eyes darkly dangerous. “Well, you got a reaction out of one of us.”

His control infuriated her. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll take what I can get.”

“Count yourself fortunate, love. You don’t
want
a reaction out of me.”

Oh, but she did. A smile, a groan, a sigh—she’d even take a scream as long as that composure cracked. “So you’ve said, more than once. Though perhaps not so plainly.”

“Then perhaps plain is what’s required.” He rose and tucked his chair neatly under the table. “Give my regrets to your friend, but as I don’t need to eat food, I prefer to retire for the evening.”

She wanted to argue, apologize, even ask him to stay, so she bit her lip and nodded. “Understood.”

He started to turn away, but hesitated. “Will you be staying here tonight?”

For all she knew, someone had moved into her old house. “All my things are here.”

A nod. “They gave me a room upstairs. I suppose I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before she could say anything, he was gone.

Cook came out to greet her, as did Cecil, and the two of them served dinner while Grace kept up a steady flow of conversation. Diana ate, but barely tasted the roast. She spoke, but really didn’t know what about. It upset her even more, that her thoughts lingered so strongly on Nate that she couldn’t even enjoy visiting with her oldest friends.

When the clock struck nine, she excused herself and climbed the stairs. The lamps had been dimmed, and she trailed her hand along the wall as she made her way down the hall.

Which one was Nate’s? The room just before the far end of the hall was the nicest, and Diana found herself pausing in front of the door, contemplating an apology.

The door snapped open, leaving her staring at Nate.

Shirtless, rumpled Nate.

Half-naked,
tousled
Nate.

Diana stared at the spot just above his left nipple. She told herself to look away, but there was no safe place for her gaze to rest. The flat of his stomach, the dark hair curling over his chest—even his collarbone was sin, standing out in tempting relief. She wanted to rub her thumb across it and up, up to the pulse that pounded in his throat.

His low, tortured groan split the silence in the hallway as his fingers sank into her hair. He pulled her forward to crash against that broad, solid chest, and his mouth landed on hers. Rough, deep, a kiss that held nothing of sweet coaxing and everything of guilty desire.

For an endless frozen moment, she couldn’t move. All she could do was struggle to catch up, to reconcile what was happening with her expectations.

He didn’t kiss like he was horny and she was there. He
devoured
her, slanting his mouth over hers like he was dying of hunger and she was his only sustenance. Diana whimpered in the back of her throat and touched him, her palms flattening against his chest.

His mouth opened, and sharp teeth—sharp
fangs
—dug into her lower lip.
Starving,
she thought dimly. But was that him or her? She pressed closer with a moan, close enough to feel him through her clothes, hard and aroused and—

Her brain ground to a halt. She wound her arms around his neck and wrapped one leg around his hip, grinding against him.

He jerked her head back hard and stared, his heavy breaths falling on her lips. “If we give in to this, we’re doomed before we start. What fool would believe I want to rid myself of you?”

Who would believe it anyway, when Diana couldn’t look at him without panting? “What do we do?”

A groan. “Fuck if I know,” he muttered, the words vibrating against her mouth as he seized it again.

Oh yes.

Diana shivered as her tongue dueled with his, and the shiver set off another when her lower body rocked closer to his hardness. She dragged her mouth to his jaw. “Inside. Now.”

“No.” His grip turned steely. “Here, or nothing.”

He was setting a boundary, she realized. It was a mostly logical conclusion—if they stayed in the hall, they couldn’t go too far. Behavior restricted by locale.

If only he knew the things she could do, even in a hallway.

Diana licked her way along his jaw to the spot beneath his ear. “Here?” she asked softly before dropping her mouth to the base of his neck. “Or here?”

A rumble of warning rolled up through his chest but seemed to stick in his throat, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to protest.

As if he was afraid she might stop.

Too much or too fast and he’d push her away. So she rubbed her thumb over his collarbone, following the caress with her tongue and then her teeth, careful not to stray too far down, lest he think she meant to drop to her knees right there.

Not yet, no matter how much she wanted it.

The instinct proved wise. His grip in her hair loosened until his fingers slipped away. He touched her slowly, grazing her chin and her throat before swooping lower.

She barely held pleading words in check, but she couldn’t stop her head from falling back on a moan. His thumb pressed to her throat, where her pulse beat strong and fast. “I’m little better than an animal now.”

Diana tensed as the words penetrated the fog of pleasure in her brain. An animal. Lord, if he thought such things about himself, what must he think of her?

She feared the answer, enough to step away until her back hit the opposite wall in the narrow corridor. “Good night, N—”

He surged across the space between them, his movements a blur that ended when his forearms crashed to the wall on either side of her head. She ended up caged by skin and muscle, surrounded by
him
. “Don’t run.”

“I’m not.” She swallowed hard. “I’m going to bed. It’s a better idea than tormenting myself with things I can’t have.”

He fixed a stare on her mouth. “Not having isn’t the torment. Having and then losing is.”

She itched to trace his frown, to ease the stern set of his lips. “You think too much. Don’t you ever just close your eyes and
feel
?”