Edge of Hunger (26 page)

With his odd-colored eyes flashing with curiosity, the younger Watchman stepped aside to allow them in, then shut and locked the door as he said, "Morgan'll be out in a minute." He turned and held out his hand toward Ian, his grip firm as they shook, and with the same trace of a British accent as his sibling, he jerked his head toward Scott, drawling, "I'm this asshole's younger brother, but don't hold it against me. Name's Kellan."

Before Ian could respond, Scott asked, "Any problems getting here?"

Kellan turned his attention to his brother and shook his head. "None so far. Everything's been quiet."

Ian moved away from them, glancing around for clues that might reveal what was going on, but the room looked untouched, the only luggage he could see a battered backpack propped beside the far wall, next to the closed bathroom door. He could hear the sound of running water coming from within, revealing the presence of the third person--the individual named Morgan that Kellan had mentioned--and could only assume that was who they'd come to meet with.

Moody shadows dwelt like a gothic presence within the confined space, the only furniture a queen-size bed, dresser and matching nightstands, along with a desk and chair. Though there were two lamps, they remained off, the only source of light coming from the fading spill of twilight that made its way in through the slanted blinds, revealing a breathtaking view of the thick forest that stretched its way up the side of the mountain.

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes he'd stuffed in the pocket of his T-shirt, Ian slanted a wary look toward Scott, who had taken up position against the closed door, as though to block the only escape route. Did they expect him to run, then? And if so, why?

Digging in the front pocket of his jeans for his lighter, he said, "Don't you think it's time you told me what's going on here?"

Before the Watchmen could answer, the bathroom door opened, and a woman appeared. She paused in the doorway when their gazes caught, one arm lifted, pressing a white hand towel to her cheek, her skin dewy, as if she'd just washed it. Ian drew in a deep breath and knew, instantly, that she wasn't human. She smelled similar to the Watchmen...only softer, sweeter.

Tall and slender, with shadowy gray eyes and a heart-shaped face that looked as if it'd been carved from fine porcelain, she was undeniably beautiful. Though she had a killer figure, she wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, hardly dressed for seduction--and yet, all it took was one look at her and Ian knew precisely what was going down.

Driven by a swift, staggering rise of fury, his unlit cigarette fell from his fingers, forgotten, and he lunged for Scott, catching him by the front of his shirt. Twisting his fist in the soft cotton, Ian lifted the Watchman off the ground, then slammed him into the door with a hard, resounding crack. "You son of a bitch," he snarled.

Scott's green eyes stared back at him with unblinking intensity, his expression strangely blank, as though a veil had been pulled over his face, removing any trace of emotion. "Be as angry with me as you like, Buchanan, but you've left us no choice. You won't feed from Molly, and the body count is climbing."

"I won't do it." The dark, graveled words were torn from his throat with no conscious direction from his brain, born completely from instinct--from a part of him that he refused to look at too closely. He didn't want to think about why he couldn't go through with their plan.

God only knew the woman was beautiful, and apparently willing, but it didn't matter.

Forcing himself to take a deep, shuddering breath, Ian clawed onto his rage with what was left of his control and released his hold on Scott. He stepped away, and stared round the room, gauging the other two, trying to get a read on their emotions, while doing his best to conceal his own. While Kierland struggled to hide his simmering anger beneath a mask of indifference, his brother simply appeared intrigued, as if he were watching some fascinating drama playing out for his entertainment. Even Kellan's stance was casual, his broad shoulders propped against the wall at his back, muscled arms crossed over a faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt.

But it was the woman, Morgan, who was the easiest to read, her obvious relief evident in the softening of her expression, as if she'd just been granted a reprieve.

"This is your last chance to do what's right," Scott said in a low voice, breaking the breath-filled silence. "Unless you want the blood of more innocent women on your hands."

"I know it'll be hard for a self-righteous prick like you," Ian sneered, "but do me a favor and lay off the fucking lectures."

"Open your eyes, Merrick. I am trying to do you a favor."

Kellan whistled softly under his breath, his eyes wide as he looked back and forth between them, while the woman simply remained in the doorway, listening intently to the argument.

"All I'm asking is that you be sensible and think about what you're being offered here, before you let your temper get the better of you," Scott added, his tone setting Ian's teeth on edge.

"Morgan traveled a helluva long way to come here, and you owe her that much."

Pulling out another cigarette, Ian quickly lit the tip with his lighter and took a sharp, hard drag, doing his best to ignore the way his goddamn hand shook.

"I don't believe this shit," he muttered, taking another deep drag, not stopping until the smoke burned his lungs. He needed that sharp burn of pain to center himself, focusing on it in order to keep his rage and frustration from overpowering him. "I didn't realize you guys were pimps on top of everything else."

"I brought you here to feed from her," Scott grunted, his air of calm indifference slipping a notch, allowing his own frustration to bleed through. "You're so bloody terrified of hurting Molly, but Morgan is one of us. You can take what you need from her without worrying about hurting her, and then go after that bastard and put an end to this thing, once and for all, before any more innocent people lose their lives."

Despite its weakness, Ian could feel his Merrick rising within him, starved for blood, undeniably tempted by the offer that was being laid at their feet, and yet, painfully aware of what it would mean to go through with it. There was no doubt that Kierland knew just how to twist the knife--knew, just as Ian and the Merrick did, that his options were limited. Either take Molly...and risk the unthinkable, or feed from someone else, and in doing so, cut all ties with her forever. Because once he did, there wasn't a chance in hell that Molly Stratton would ever want to come within a God-given mile of him again. Not after she'd offered herself to him so freely, and he'd refused, turning his back on her.

"I'm not the one who killed them," he seethed, needing an outlet for his visceral, animalistic rage, unable to hold it in. Stubbing out what was left of his cigarette in a plastic ashtray, he took an aggressive step toward Scott, who still stood with his back to the door.

"Maybe not," the Watchman rasped, watching him closely, his brow drawn in a deep V over the pale green of his gaze. "But you haven't done a helluva lot to save them, either, have you?"

The next thing Ian knew, he was slamming his fist into Scott's jaw and watching as the man's head snapped to the side. With lightning reflexes, Scott responded with a powering jab that cracked against Ian's already bruised ribs, tearing a guttural roar from his chest at the same time Ian connected with a swift uppercut beneath the bastard's chin.

"Goddamn it! You two need to chill!" Kellan grunted as he entered the fray and tried to pull them apart, while the punches continued to fly, the sound of a fist connecting with cartilage making a thick snapping sound that had the younger Watchman shouting for them both to go to hell. They slammed into the desk, sending the lamp crashing to the floor, then banged into the far wall, knocking down a framed landscape when Scott missed Ian's face and sent his bloodied knuckles straight through the drywall.

They were too evenly matched in their anger, and in the end, it was Morgan who finally managed to shove her way between them, pushing them apart, her outstretched arms pressed against their heaving chests. Neither man swung, afraid of hitting her by accident, and so she was able to hold them back from one another, while shouting for them to stop acting like a pair of adolescents.

"All right, all right," Scott panted, backing away until his shoulder blades came up against the wall, his breathing ragged as he hunched forward, bracing his hands on his knees. Looking up through the dark strands of hair falling over his brow, he finally said, "This wasn't my first choice, Buchanan. Trust me. I've tried over and over again to get you to do the right thing this week. I told you today to get your ass up in the house and take Molly to bed. But you refused, said it's never going to happen, and I accept your decision. I don't agree with it, but I finally realized you're never going to change your mind. So that makes this your only option. Take what Morgan's offering, what she's willing to give, because if you don't, you'll never be strong enough to face him, and that maniacal bastard is just going to keep picking them off, one by one."

Ian shifted his gaze to Morgan, her gray eyes huge as she stared...studying him. There was no doubt that she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen--but it didn't change the fact that she wasn't the one he wanted. "Why?" he muttered, while a cold sweat that felt uncomfortably like panic broke out over his skin. "Why did you come here?"

"I don't whore myself out for the Watchmen, if that's what you're thinking," she told him, her voice soft...but strong. "I'm a soldier, same as these two. I do, however, happen to be a woman, which is what you need. I also happen to understand just how important you are--as well as how important it is that you're given every possible advantage when dealing with the Casus. That being the case, I wanted you to have the choice."

Christ. So she was there to sacrifice herself for the cause. Pushing his sore fingers back through his hair, Ian silently cursed under his breath, thinking their good intentions were going to be the fucking death of him.

Morgan was offering him the perfect answer to a shitty situation, and yet, he simply couldn't take it, for the simple fact that touching her meant losing any chance he could ever have with Molly. And no matter how improbable that future seemed, it was something he wouldn't--

that he couldn't--throw away.

Clearing his throat, he tried to explain. "Not that you're...that this isn't appreciated, but I'm afraid you've wasted your time by coming here."

Instead of arguing, she surprised him with a slight smile. "I won't say that I'm surprised.

After he explained the situation between you and your woman," she said, jerking her chin toward Kierland, "I told him you wouldn't go through with it, but the jackass never listens."

"You agreed to come here," Scott grated, glaring at her as he shifted position, leaning his shoulders against the wall at his back again.

"But not for you," she drawled, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. With her slender arms crossed over her chest, she turned toward Scott. "I agreed because there's a war coming, and I'm willing to do what needs to be done to ensure the right side wins."

"Trust me, I know just what you're willing to do. Why else do you think I called you, and not some other woman," Kierland sneered, his bitter tone surprising Ian, making it obvious that these two had some kind of history.

"Ooh," she drawled, pitching her voice seductively low. "That was below the belt, Scott. Even for you."

"Just ignore him." Kellan sighed, flashing her an apologetic look. "You know he loves to push your buttons, Morgan."

"He isn't ever getting anywhere close to my buttons," she muttered, switching her attention back to Ian, her expression softening. "And for what it's worth, I think you should have a little more faith in yourself. Your feelings for the human are strong enough to keep you faithful to her, even when you know it could mean your death. I'm not a betting kind of woman, but I'd place everything I own on the fact that you could never hurt her. But no one can give you proof of that until you discover it for yourself. It's something that you're just going to have to accept on blind faith."

Pacing across the room, Ian moved to the window, staring through the blinds at the darkening sky, his attention focused on her words, working them over in his mind. There was something there that jarred his memory, reminding him of the moment on the training field, during his argument with Scott, when a hazy idea had begun to form at the edge of his consciousness.

Scott's voice came from the far side of the room, interrupting his thoughts. "I know you don't want to, Buchanan, but it's time to face what has to be done."

Ian ground his jaw, while the image in his brain slowly began to crystallize, growing clearer...sharper, various fragments of conversation looping round and round in his mind.

The Marker will come into power when the Casus is near....

Accept on blind faith...

Time to face what has to be done...

When the Casus is near...

Son of a bitch! He'd known there was something significant in the message Shrader had delivered from Molly, but it wasn't until that instant that it finally hit him, the jolt of understanding jerking a low grunt from his chest. He had the answer, dammit, and it was the simplest solution of all.

Simple? More like suicide, his conscience snarled.

True, but it was better than doing this day after day, fighting the constant temptation to take Molly, scared out of his mind that he'd end up killing her, with no logical solution in sight.

He wasn't going to feed from her, and he wasn't going to feed from anyone else. Which meant he could stand around and do nothing or he could finally get off his ass and take some action.

And he finally knew exactly what to do.

Turning around, he pushed his battered hands into his pockets and quietly said, "I'm leaving."

Scott made a low sound of frustration, his green eyes flashing with impatience. "Running back to Ravenswing isn't going to solve anything," he snapped.