Edge of Hunger (21 page)

"By going wolf on my ass?" Ian muttered, pulling himself up into a sitting position. After inspecting the damage, he wiped the bloody bite-wound against his jeans, all the while cursing a hot, foul string of words under his breath. Quinn had tried to show him how to transform his fangs and hands for training, allowing the Merrick's talons to slip free, but Ian hadn't been able to make it happen at will--which meant he couldn't retaliate in kind.

"I'm not a wolf," Aiden grimaced with disgust, curling his lip. "Do I look like a bloody wolf to you?"

Ian studied him through slitted eyes. "If not wolf, then what the hell are you?"

"Aiden's a cat," Quinn offered with a throaty chuckle, suddenly appearing off to their right, about fifteen yards away, as if he'd just dropped out of the sky. He'd obviously grabbed a shower, the dust and grime of the training field washed away. His jeans were clean, as was the loose white shirt that hung open in deference to the heat, revealing the hard, muscled slab of his torso.

Ian was on the verge of asking him where he'd come from, when Aiden shot Quinn the finger, drawling, "That's big kitty to you, flyboy."

"Idiots," Ian grunted, thinking they were both crazy. "It's like a goddamn zoo around here,"

he added under his breath.

"Minus the bars and cages, of course," Quinn offered with a quiet snicker.

Scowling, Ian cut him a sharp look. "How the hell did you hear what I said from all the way over there?"

"We're not human, Merrick," the Watchman murmured, arching one midnight brow, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. "What makes you think we'd hear or see or move like one?"

He cast a meaningful glance at Ian's wounded forearm. "Or fight like one, for that matter."

Moving to his feet, Ian gritted his teeth against the pain in his ribs, wondering how many Shrader had managed to crack. "So you're saying that you have...what?" he grunted,

"Superhuman hearing?"

"It's definitely better than a human's," Quinn agreed, walking toward them, his long gait making short work of the distance. "How else do you think I knew why Molly came to Colorado? I was watching you last Friday at the building site."

Pushing his hands back through the sweat-damp strands of his hair, Ian thought back to that first conversation he'd had with Molly. "You heard her tell me about Elaina?"

"That's right."

"Were you listening to our conversations at the motel?" he demanded, his irritation rising, considering those had been some pretty personal conversations.

The corner of Quinn's mouth twitched and he shook his head. "I may have better hearing than most humans, but I can't hear through walls."

Grunting in response, Ian scanned the area, looking for his shirt, remembering that he'd taken it off at one point during the afternoon. "If you weren't listening in, then how did you know we were familiar with Scott's name?"

"We've been monitoring her cell phone," Quinn told him, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"We know she called information for the listing." There was a curious gleam in his dark eyes as he said, "Am I right in assuming your mother gave her the name?"

"Yeah." Ian finally spotted his shirt by the garage and went to pick it up, wiping the salty beads of sweat from his face as he made his way back toward the two Watchmen. Shrader--

who, like Ian, wore only his jeans--had sprawled his big body out over the dusty ground, one hulking arm thrown over his eyes, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, looking for all the world as if he was sleeping. Ian grinned with grim satisfaction at the sight, hoping he'd worn the bastard out.

He'd just finished using his shirt to wipe the oozing blood from the bite marks Shrader had left in his arm, when Quinn gave a quiet rumble of laughter, saying, "You should have seen Kierland's face when we told him Molly knew his name. After what I'd heard at the building site, we kinda figured your mother was the one who'd passed it on. He definitely wasn't too keen on the idea of a ghost keeping tabs on him."

A hard smile broke over Ian's mouth, but his satisfaction faded as soon as Quinn went back to the original topic of conversation. "Haven't you noticed your senses improving? Becoming more intense? Sharper?" At his scowl, the Watchman added, "It's because your Merrick is now a part of you. Even though you're still not able to accept the full change, it's altering your physiology, improving your abilities, making you stronger...more perceptive than a human male."

"That's what you meant last night," he muttered, throwing his bloodstained shirt over one sweaty shoulder. "At the motel. When you said I'm more Merrick now than human."

Quinn nodded. "That's right."

"How far is it going to go?" he asked, hating the cold touch of fear creeping up his spine. He wanted a cigarette, but had left his pack up in the room he'd slept in last night. Not that he'd actually slept. He'd been too afraid to fall asleep, half terrified that he would dream of Molly again...knowing exactly what would happen if he did.

"Don't worry. You'll still look like a man when not in Merrick form," Quinn assured him, as if he cared what he looked like, when he couldn't have given a rat's ass. That wasn't the problem. It was the idea of constantly walking around with this ugly burn of hunger in his gut, stripping his insides raw, that scared the hell out of him. "But you'll retain much of the strength and heightened abilities of your primal bloodline," Quinn went on to say, "at all times."

Son of a bitch.

"Enough gabbing," Shrader suddenly muttered, shifting to his feet in an effortlessly fluid move that made Ian wonder if the guy was even feeling a twinge of pain. With a deliberately taunting look in his eyes, he flashed Ian a sharp, predatory smile. "Now that I've had my catnap, I'm ready to beat down what's left of you, Buchanan."

"As entertaining as that sounds, I think he's done for the day," Quinn offered in an aside, after glancing at Ian's savage expression.

Shrader pushed his hair back off his face, then laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. "And I think he needs a good meal or he isn't going to be worth shit out here on the training field, either today, tomorrow, or the day after that. This is just a waste of our time."

"What does that mean?" Ian demanded in a graveled voice, while something uneasy twisted in his gut.

Rolling his eyes, Shrader explained. "No matter how bloody good you are at fighting, you're too damn weak. Until you've properly fed, you won't be able to go two rounds with that Casus prick."

"Fed?" he grunted, knowing damn well what the man was talking about.

"Isn't there something you crave?" Shrader drawled, his hazel, catlike eyes glittering and bright as he held his stare.

"You're talking about blood," Ian said flatly, his throat tight, mouth dry...while the sound of his pulse roared in his ears. It'd been almost two days since he'd shared that second dream with Molly, and he'd felt every minute that had gone by, the hunger growing stronger with each passing second.

"The blood's part of it," Quinn offered at his side.

"What do you mean part of it?"

"You can't just drink," Shrader muttered, sounding disgusted by his ignorance. "Well you could, but you're not a vampire, so you probably wouldn't want to."

"Then explain it," Ian growled, forcing the words out through his teeth.

"You crave blood and sex. When you're Merrick, the hungers are combined into one primitive need, so you'll want them together. That's why, in the old days, the unmated Merrick males had agreements with the gypsies. Just bedding a woman isn't going to do anything for you but get your rocks off. But if you feed while riding her--" a gritty burst of laughter rumbled deep in Shrader's chest "--let's just say your Merrick is going to be a really happy boy."

"And until you feed properly," Quinn added, "you're not going to be strong enough for your Merrick to completely break free. Your fangs will still release, if there's an opportunity for nourishment, but otherwise, you'll be unable to make the transformation. Food is only going to sustain your body. The Merrick, it lives off the blood."

"He's right." Scott's deep voice suddenly rumbled at his back. "It needs to happen, and it needs to happen now."

Turning around, Ian fisted his hands at his sides as he took in the sight of Scott and Molly standing together, side by side, as if they were the best pals in the world. While he'd spent the day outside getting his ass kicked, Scott had been cozied up in the library with her, going over his mother's journal and examining the cross. The idea of the two of them alone together in the house had heat crawling up the back of his neck that had nothing to do with the record-breaking temperatures scorching the mountains...and everything to do with possession, while his gut twisted with the raw, caustic burn of jealousy.

Molly stared at his face for a long, breathless moment, then trailed her heavy, luminous gaze down his body, as if he were something tasty that she wanted to slip in her mouth and savor for hours on end. He reminded himself that he wasn't the kind of man to be brought to his knees by a woman. But when her tongue touched the plump center of her upper lip, her focus centered on his hard, dust-covered abdomen, he damn near hit the ground. And he knew precisely what would happen if he did. With his knees buried in the sand, he'd reach for her, pulling her to him, and bury his face in the plump V nestled there between her sweet little thighs, gulping in desperate lungfuls of her warm, womanly scent.

Hell, in another lifetime, he'd have groveled at her feet, begging for whatever she was willing to give him. Sex. Love. Companionship and compassion. Even commitment...trust. Things he could never accept from her in this world, no matter how badly he wanted them.

And aside from the sex--things he wouldn't even know how to offer her in return.

It drove him crazy--the fact that he couldn't trust himself to touch her, when he wanted it so badly he actually hurt. The destructive pain lingered in his gut, in his muscles--God, even his skin itched for the feel of her against him, under him, wrapped around him.

"How's he doing?" Scott asked the Watchmen, the quiet words jerking Ian out of his personal hell.

"He's good, I'll give him that," Shrader admitted, surprising him. "All those years of boxing made him strong and quick on his feet for a human, but he's still got a lot to learn."

"And he's still trying to fight with his fists," Quinn added, "instead of keeping his fingers loose, the way they'd be with his talons."

"You used to box?" Molly asked into the brief pause, blinking up at him in surprise. She lifted one hand to shield her eyes from the bright glare of sunshine, and Ian knew they were all watching her, as captivated as he was by the feminine lines and movements of her body. His gaze dropped to the sight of her breasts pressed against the dark blue cotton blouse she wore, the outline of her nipples tight against the soft material, making him want to growl. The primitive, predatory sound rumbled deep in his chest, and it took everything he had to choke it back and hold it inside.

Instead of answering her question, Ian ground out one of his own. "What are you doing out here?" he muttered, when what he really wanted to ask was what she'd been doing inside all day with Scott.

Reaching out to him, she grabbed his right hand, turned it over and laid the cross across the sweaty heat of his palm. "You're going to need this," she said softly.

Ian scowled, the expression born from his trembling reaction to her touch as much as it was from the cross. "I told you that I don't want the damn thing."

"The training is important," Scott said, "but you need to figure out how to use this Marker as a weapon. I've tried everything I can think of, but it won't work for me."

"I don't know what to do with it," he argued.

Scott's pale green gaze narrowed. "Maybe not, but you're never going to figure it out if you don't try. For all we know, it only works for a Merrick, which means I can study the bloody thing all day long and it isn't going to do anyone a damn bit of good."

"Elaina's journal entries reveal that she'd heard fragments of the legend, as well as stories about how the Casus were trapped," Molly explained, squinting against the afternoon sunlight, the vivid rays glinting off her hair, making his hands itch to reach out and touch its silken weight. Fist his hands in it, and then pull her against his sweat-covered body, taking her to the dust-covered ground.

He could see her lips moving, and gave himself the equivalent of a mental slap, forcing his mind to pay attention to what she was saying. "Ian, she also explains how she came into possession of the cross."

It was obvious from her expression that she expected him to be surprised by the answer.

Wondering what it was, he nodded for her to go ahead and tell him.

"Saige gave it to her."

"My sister?" he rasped, realizing that of all the possible scenarios, that was one he hadn't expected.

"Elaina writes of how Saige studied anthropology because she shared her passion for the stories about your bloodline, about the Merrick and the Casus. Saige has been researching the subject for years now, a fact which Kierland can confirm, since they've been watching her.

According to your mother, your sister came into possession of the cross last year, after being on an archeological dig in Italy."

He cut a questioning, suspicious look toward Scott. "Then why didn't you guys know about it?"

The Watchman rolled his shoulder and winced. "My brother, Kellan, was assigned to her at the time, but he was...let's just say easily distracted by the local attractions."

Ian snorted, shaking his head. "So instead of watching my sister, the way he was supposed to be doing, he was off getting laid?"

Scott nodded. "Which is why we took him off the assignment and brought him back home, once we realized he was being remiss in his duties. But we didn't know until now that he'd missed something this important."

"Where is he now?"

"In Henning, watching your brother."

"And who's watching Saige?" Ian demanded, wondering just how much his sister knew about what was happening. She'd always been as headstrong as she was willful when they were kids. It'd been years since he'd seen her, but he could only imagine she'd turned out to be hell on wheels.