Everlasting Desire (22 page)

Megan didn't hear him coming, but she knew when Villagrande boarded the ship. It was as if a dark shroud settled over the craft. Evil slid along her skin and crawled inside her like some loathsome insect. She knew, somehow, that when she had seen him before, he had been masking his true self, and that what she sensed now was the real Tomás Villagrande. Had he been masking his true nature from Shirl? Or was she so infatuated with his supernatural power and his promises that she had turned a blind eye to the truth of what he was?

He appeared beside the bunk between one heartbeat and the next. Eyes red, fangs bared, he was a nightmare come to life.

“So.” Moving closer to the bunk, he swept his gaze over her. It made her feel dirty, defiled. “It's time for dinner.”

Megan stared up at him. Heart pounding, body trembling uncontrollably, she couldn't think, couldn't speak. Like a fox helplessly caught in the jaws of a trap, she could only stare up at him while a voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was what death looked like.

Thoughts flew through her mind like leaves in a wind storm. She would never see her parents again. Never see Rhys. Never be a bride. Darkness swirled at the edge of her consciousness, and she prayed she would pass out before Villagrande sank his fangs into her throat. What if he didn't intend to kill her? What if he turned her into a vampire? For a fleeting moment, she thought she would rather be a vampire than die so horribly, but then Villagrande grinned at her and she knew she'd rather be dead than become what he was.

His fangs lengthened. Gleaming. Bright white. She took a deep breath as fear coiled deep in the pit of her stomach. She tried to look away from his hellish gaze, but like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake, she could only lie there, waiting for death to strike.

Megan tensed when Villagrande lowered his head to her neck, but then a curious thing happened. As soon as his fangs touched her skin, a shower of bright golden yellow sparks exploded between them. Villagrande reared back, a vile curse issuing from his lips.

Startled, Megan cried out, her whole body tensing in fearful anticipation as the fiery embers rained down on her face and neck, but there was no pain. The bright yellow sparks vanished when they touched her skin.

Villagrande wasn't so fortunate. The embers burned his skin wherever they touched, leaving raw, red patches.

He reeled backward as Shirl burst into the cabin. “Tomás, what's going on…?”

She had scarcely uttered the words when Rhys appeared behind her in the doorway. His eyes took on a warm red glow when he saw Villagrande, and, before Megan could move or speak, Villagrande and Rhys were on each other.

With her hands still bound behind her back, Megan struggled to sit up as the two vampires battled each other. The smell of blood and scorched flesh mingled with the scent of sea and salt, making her stomach churn.

Villagrande hurled Rhys against the wall with such force, Megan was surprised the wood didn't crack from the impact. With a feral cry, Rhys sprang to his feet and lunged at Villagrande, his hands like claws, his fangs dripping blood.

It was a battle unlike anything she had ever seen. Like two superheroes, they flung each other to and fro, fangs and claws rending preternatural flesh that healed almost instantly. Blood splattered on the walls, the ceiling, the deck.

As blood sprayed over her face and robe, Megan cowered against the bed, praying that Rhys would be the victor even as she wondered how much more punishment he could take.

She let out a cry as Shirl struck Rhys from behind, opening a gash in the back of his head and knocking him off balance. Springing forward, Villagrande seized Rhys by the nape and slammed him to the floor, facedown; then, straddling his back, Villagrande grasped a handful of Rhys's hair, jerked his head backward and buried his fangs in the side of Rhys's neck.

Megan glanced at Shirl, but one look at Shirl's face, contorted with bloodlust, banished all thought of asking for help. Her former friend's eyes burned with excitement as the scent of Rhys's blood filled the air.

Megan swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Rhys had told her that vampires rarely fed on other vampires, but Villagrande drank for what seemed like forever, then rose gracefully to his feet.

Moving toward a small desk, Villagrande picked up a long wooden letter opener and tossed it to Shirl. “Finish him and throw him overboard.”

Shifting his focus to Megan, Villagrande lifted a hand to his face, his fingers gingerly probing his scorched flesh. He glared at her for a long moment; then, muttering, “This isn't over,” he stalked out of the cabin.

Shirl stared after Tomás and then, to Megan's astonishment, Shirl laid the stake aside and sank her fangs into Rhys's throat.

Megan stared at Rhys. She had to do something, but what? Clinging to the faint hope that the blood bond she shared with Rhys would somehow give her the strength she needed, she struggled against the rope that bound her wrists.

She didn't know whether it was the adrenaline coursing through her body, the power of her connection to Rhys, or if the ropes hadn't been as tight as she'd thought, but one last desperate tug, and her hands slipped free.

Moving as silently as she could, she tiptoed toward Shirl. Sending a quick prayer winging toward heaven, Megan grabbed the letter opener and plunged it into Shirl's back, aiming for her treacherous heart.

The wood slid through skin and flesh and muscle as easily as a needle through cloth.

Shirl toppled onto the cabin floor without a sound.

Megan didn't waste time wondering if Shirl was dead. Surprisingly, she didn't care one way or the other.

Kneeling beside Rhys, she shook his shoulder, gently at first, and then more vigorously. “Rhys! Dammit, Rhys, I need you to get us out of here. Now!” When he didn't speak, didn't even twitch, she shook him again, harder. “Rhys! Don't you dare be dead!”

“I'm already dead,” he muttered.

Relief washed through her when he rolled onto his back, but only for a moment. He was badly hurt. His face was swollen and discolored; blood seeped from the gash in the back of his head, staining the floor beneath him.

“Rhys, we need to go, now.” Knowing that Villagrande could return at any moment, she glanced warily at the door.

“I need…blood.”

She blinked at him, then sighed in resignation. She was the only game in town. Rolling up her sleeve, she offered him her wrist.

His gaze met hers for stretched seconds, and in his eyes she saw regret for what he was asking of her, and gratitude for her willingness to give it to him.

She turned her head away as he drew her arm to his mouth. He drank greedily, the pull of his mouth on her skin both repellant and oddly sensual. He had tasted her before, but this was different. This wasn't an act of love but survival.

A growl rose in his throat and then, abruptly, he pushed her away.

Megan watched the red fade from his eyes, the bruises vanish from his face. Moments later, he was standing over her, as silent and still as a statue. The hair raised on her arms as he drew on his preternatural power.

“Hang on,” he said, and lifted her into his arms.

Weak from the loss of blood, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, her stomach roiling as the world spun out of focus. There was a dizzying sensation of movement, as if she were on an out-of-control roller coaster, a rush of wind in her ears, an overwhelming sense of disorientation, and then nothing.

When her stomach and the world stopped spinning, she opened her eyes. And frowned. “Where are we?”

“Boston.”

“Boston!” She sagged against him. “What are we doing here?”

Rhys jerked his chin toward the house behind them. “This is Erik's place.”

The house was small and square, with a red brick chimney, bright yellow shutters, a white picket fence, a security screen door, and white bars over the windows, upstairs and down.

The front door opened before Rhys knocked, and Erik peered out at them, a comical look of surprise on his face. “What the hell! What are you doing here?”

“Looking for a place to spend the day,” Rhys muttered. “Can you put us up?”

Rhys could almost see the wheels turning in the other vampire's head as Erik glanced from Rhys to Megan and back again. Megan looked weak and pale, and he knew Delacourt was wondering if Rhys had started to bring Megan across and then changed his mind.

“Sure, come on in.” Erik stepped aside, then closed and locked the door before following Rhys and Megan into the living room. “Sit down and tell us what happened. Daisy, why don't you get Megan a glass of wine?”

With a nod, Daisy disappeared into the kitchen.

Rhys eased Megan down on the sofa, then slipped his arm around her shoulders. Her head fell back, and her eyelids fluttered down. It worried him that she looked so pale. Had he taken too much?

Erik lifted one brow. “So?”

“Villagrande kidnapped Megan. I almost got there too late. I owe you a big one. If it wasn't for that spell you worked on Megan, I think he would have killed her.”

“She looks half-dead now.”

“I needed blood. Villagrande beat the crap out of me.”

“Ah.”

Rhys ran his knuckles lightly over Megan's cheek. “I was going to let the bastard have the city,” he said quietly, “but I never got a chance to tell him so.”

Daisy glanced at the glass in her hand, then looked at Rhys. “Should we wake her up?”

Rhys shrugged. “I don't know.”

“I think you should let her rest,” Erik remarked. “She looks exhausted.”

Megan stirred in Rhys's embrace. “I'm thirsty.”

Rhys took the glass from Daisy and held it to Megan's lips. “Here you go, love.”

Megan looked up at him, a half smile on her face as she murmured, “Wine is supposed to be good for the blood.”

Rhys shook his head, amazed that she could find humor in the situation, then muttered, “Just drink it.”

Megan drained the glass, then curled up against his side and closed her eyes.

“I think she'll be all right once she's had some sleep.” Daisy took the glass from Rhys and set it on a side table.

Rhys nodded.

“I'll make up the bed in the guest room,” Daisy said. “She'll be comfortable there. You're welcome to share our lair in the basement.”

“No, I'm staying with her.”

“Do you think that's wise, all things considered?” Erik asked.

“Probably not, but I'm not leaving her alone again. If Villagrande finds us, he'll have to go through me to get to her.”

“Looks like he already did that once,” Erik remarked with a wry grin. “Are you planning to give him a second chance?”

Rhys glared at Delacourt.

Daisy placed her hand on her husband's arm. “I'm not sure you're helping.” She looked at Rhys. “You don't think Villagrande will come here, do you?”

“I hope not.”

“Well, if he does, it'll be three against one. Four, when Alex gets home.”

“Is he still spending my money?” Rhys had paid Alex O'Donnell two hundred thousand dollars for his help in locating Mariah. He had learned later that Alex had split the money with Daisy.

“Just as fast as he can,” Daisy said with a grin. “Or he was. He'll he home from his honeymoon tomorrow night.”

“He got married?”

“Last month. They've been touring Spain but they'll be home soon. I'll have Megan's bed made up in two shakes.”

A short time later, Rhys carried Megan up the stairs. He waved Daisy away when she offered to help get Megan into bed. “Thanks, but I can do it.”

Megan muttered something incoherent as Rhys eased her out of her bathrobe, noticing for the first time that it was stained with blood. Not all of it was his. He could smell Villagrande on her. “What'd you say?”

“I need a shower. I feel dirty.”

He nodded. If she hadn't suggested it, he would have. The sooner they washed Villagrande's stink off of her, the better. “Wait here, I'll turn the water on.”

Grunting softly, he went into the bathroom and turned on the taps. Standing there, waiting for the water to get hot, he tried to understand how she must feel, but couldn't. He had killed when necessary and never lost any sleep over it. He knew he had a reputation for being a hard-ass, and sometimes he was, although since Megan had entered his life, he seemed to have lost a little of his edge.

“Nothing like the love of a good woman,” he muttered as he tested the water.

When it was warm enough, he walked Megan to the shower, closed the door after her, then turned his back, giving her some privacy. He probably should have left the room, but he wasn't leaving her alone as long as Villagrande was a threat.

It took him a minute to realize she was standing under the spray, crying. Well, who could blame her? She'd been through hell tonight.

Undressing, he opened the shower door, stepped inside, and gathered her into his arms. He held her until the water started to cool, then took the soap and scrubbed her from head to foot. When he was done, he turned off the water, then wrapped her in a towel and carried her into the bedroom.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured.

“Nothing for you to be sorry for.” He cursed his body's instant reaction to hers as he dried her off. It was all he could do to keep from seducing her. Like the lust for blood, battle often aroused his baser instincts. Reining in his desire, he slipped the nightgown Daisy had provided over Megan's head, then tucked her into bed.

“You could have been killed,” she murmured.

“Get some sleep, darlin'.”

“I don't think I can.”

“You need the rest.”

“You won't leave me?”

“No.” He wiped a lock of damp hair from her brow. “You'll feel better in the morning.”

She looked doubtful, but obediently closed her eyes.