Hotter Than Hell (32 page)

When the tremors finally eased, he laughed softly and rested his forehead against mine. “I could get addicted to this.”

“What? Sex? I thought all werewolves were anyway.”

“Trust me, there’s sex, and then there’s
sex.
” He kissed me gently. “But it’s you, Grace, that’s addictive.”

“An addiction cannot be gained after only two nibbles,” I refuted, not wanting to give any credence to the tiny spark of hope that flared deep inside. The flare that dared to think this could be more than just another brief fling.

“I said
you
, Grace, not the sex.”

“You don’t know me well enough to get addicted.” I let my legs slide to the ground and pushed him back a little. “Coffee?”

“When are you going to learn that pushing me away only makes me more determined?” he asked, voice hinting at frustration though there was little enough to be seen in his expression. Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t willing to trust his words.

“I told you before, it’s self-preservation.”

“And I have never given you a reason to distrust me. Nor do I intend to.”

What could I say to that? That I didn’t trust the fact a werewolf could stay with one partner for more than a couple of days? That my heart wasn’t willing to give him the chance of proving me wrong, simply because I was afraid of him breaking it? How could I win what I wanted if I wasn’t willing to put anything more than my body on the line? That was a coward’s way, and up until now, I’d never been a coward.

I turned on the coffee machine and looked out the window as I reached for the coffee mugs.

And saw the thin, pale face that was almost the spitting image of the vampire we’d killed.

Felt the sudden thickening in the air, the charge of darkness and evil across my senses.

I barely had time to open my mouth and she was through that window and at me. She was thin and weedy and stinking of blood and sex and grief, and I knew I’d been right before, that it hadn’t been just one vampire who was killing the boys, but two. They were twins of darkness, one a blood vampire, the other an energy vamp.

She hit me in a rush, pushing me back and down. The back of my head cracked against the floorboards and the shock of it left me gasping for air. The vamp snarled, her breath fetid as it washed across my face. I looked up, saw fangs gleaming brightly in the pale kitchen light, saw them slash down toward my neck. I shoved my arms between us, felt her teeth slice into skin. Not to feed, but to mutilate, and maim, and kill. She twisted her head, dragging her teeth through muscle and flesh, slicing through both as cleanly as a knife through butter. Pain rolled through me, and I screamed. She sucked in the sound and an excited gleam flared in the dead, dark depths of her eyes.

This
one was the energy vamp, not the other.

And then she was gone, thrown across the room like so much rubbish, and Ethan was hauling me up, thrusting me behind him.

“We have no weapons,” I gasped, cradling my wounded arm. Blood dripped between my fingertips, dropping to the floor, filling the room with its sweet metallic scent.

“Run for the car,” he said, “I’ll keep it occupied.”

He lunged for the vampire, but it moved so fast it literally blurred, swinging and kicking in one fluid movement. Ethan dodged, sucking in his gut, somehow avoiding the blow and landing one of his own. The vamp staggered back, then caught her balance and threw a punch. It landed in Ethan’s side, so hard I heard bone snap. He grunted, but didn’t back away, hitting the vamp a second time, his fist smashing into the vamp’s face and mashing her nose back against his face. Blood spurted, and she snarled in fury.

As much as I didn’t want to, I turned from the fight and ran for the door. We needed weapons and we needed them fast. But suddenly the vampire was there, her fist flying. I ducked, but not fast enough, and the blow hit my chin and sent me reeling backwards. I crashed into the table, felt it give underneath me, and fell to the floor amongst the ruins of wood.

Dimly, I saw Ethan and the vampire struggling, fighting, against the door frame. Saw Ethan being flung back, the vampire coming at me yet again.

I scrambled backwards, desperate to get out of her way. The jagged remains of the table speared into my butt and scattered across the floor.

Wood, I thought, and grabbed the nearest, sharpest bit, gripping it tight and thrusting it with all the force I could muster at the vampire.

The needle-sharp point arrowed through flesh and bone, straight into her heart. Fire flared where wood met flesh, and spread quickly across her body, the heat of it burning me, setting my clothes alight. She screamed, I screamed, and the smell of burning flesh and material rent the air. I struggled against her weight, trying to push her off me, but she wouldn’t move, wouldn’t budge, and I was panicking, burning…

And then she was gone, and Ethan was there yet again, tearing off my shirt and stamping out the flames before dragging me into his arms. He kissed my cheeks, my nose, my lips, and he was shuddering, shaking, as much as I was.

“Next time I ignore your instincts, feel free to knock me over the head with a baseball bat,” he said, after a while.

I laughed shakily, and pulled back. “I need to shift shape to stop the bleeding.”

He nodded and sat back. I shifted to wolf form, healing the wound enough to stop the bleeding, then shifted back to my human shape. “Well, at least that’s over with.”

“You sure?”

I nodded. “I only felt one other presence. How long do you think they were living in that house?”

“Probably as long as the house has been around, if the bodies and bones are anything to go by.”

“But how could so many deaths go unreported?”

“I’m betting they mostly snatched tourists, or teenagers who were on their own.”

I guess as towns like this got built up, there were fewer drifters and farmhands that could be taken unnoticed—and that only left the unwary. “But why go after kids with families? Especially if they were trying to avoid notice?”

“Who knows? Maybe the lone tourists have been scarce and they had no other choice. Maybe the boys were simply easy prey.”

He shrugged and reached out, cupping my cheek with his palm, letting his thumb brush my lips. Heat slithered through me, an aching that was mind and body. And as I stared into his bright, watchful eyes, I knew that whatever the consequences to my heart, I had to see this thing through. Had to see where we went.

“Ethan—”

“I’m not asking for commitment, Grace,” he cut in. “I just want you to stop running and give me some time.”

I smiled and kissed his fingertips. “Time I can give.”

“Good,” he said, as that dangerously sexy light came back into his eyes. “So now, we can get back to our report making.”

I grinned. “Is this going to become a standard feature of our working together?”

“Totally.” His breath washed heat across my lips, sending anticipation and desire racing through my limbs. “Can’t think of a better way to get over the tedium of writing a report.”

Neither could I.

HE WATCHED HER FROM THE SHADOWS, HIS BREATH
speeding up, the blood pumping hard through his veins.

It had been years since anyone had set foot inside the walls of his refuge. Anyone other than juveniles up to no good, daring each other to cross the threshold of the eerie and reportedly haunted Castle MacKay.

But this one…this woman…was no adolescent bent on mischief. She was up to something.

He could tell by the way she glanced around, slowly and with great interest. And by the bags she was carrying, one thrown over her shoulder, the other clutched in her hand at knee level.

Long shafts of evening sunlight shone through the tall, thin windows, illuminating the specks of dust in the air and sending wavering slivers of blue and violet through the woman’s otherwise inky black hair.

She wore a loose pink top with some type of picture and writing on it, and a small golden cross that hung to just between her full, rounded breasts. Her legs were covered in denim, a thin black belt at her slim waist and sturdy brown hiking boots on her feet.

With a sigh, she let the duffle in her hand fall to the dirt floor, lowering the bag on her shoulder much more gently.

“This should be fun,” she muttered.

She twisted around, looking for a moment in his direction, and he jerked back, standing even tighter against the wall.

From the corner of his eye, he could still see her, but he didn’t think she’d seen him. If she had, she wouldn’t even now be walking back outside at a leisurely pace.

No, if she’d seen him, she would be running. And screaming in fear.

Only a few minutes after she’d disappeared through the castle’s main, if crumbling, entrance, she returned with a rolled-up sleeping bag, a worn leather satchel, and a large silver thermos.

His heart thrummed in his ears, pounding hard against his ribcage as she began spreading out the sleeping bag and he realized she meant to stay. Here. Overnight. In his secret lair.

Fists clenching at his sides, he watched her, torn between fury at having his private sanctuary invaded and acute interest at being so close to another human being—a woman—for the first time in a hundred years.

Stifling a yawn, Laura Tomescu finished spreading out her things and creating a space on the ground to both sleep and work. Though she wasn’t entirely sure where to begin, she was itching to get started on the undertaking that had brought her here in the first place, and to explore Castle MacKay, which had apparently been abandoned nearly a century ago.

From the dirt on the floor and the cobwebs coating the ceiling, she could believe it. She shuddered at the thought of what was likely crawling around in this shadowed room. But she knew in her bones that this would be where she’d find the answers to all of her questions, and so she was ready to face almost anything…even the creepy crawlies living in this abandoned keep.

But it was late, and she’d already had a long day of traveling and talking with townspeople from the village below. It seemed that everyone in this part of Scotland knew of the half-man, half-beast who was said to haunt the area.

Whether he truly lived in Castle MacKay, no one could say for sure. What they would say, depending on who she’d asked, was that he was either a saint or a monster. Some claimed that he butchered sheep or stole children from their beds. Others swore that he left gifts of food or clothing on their doorsteps, or had saved them from harm in one way or another.

Laura didn’t know what to believe, and she wasn’t sure it mattered. She was here because of her family’s part in the legend of Dougal MacKay…or perhaps she should say her family’s part in the curse.

And because of the dreams she’d been having about him for the past several years. Dreams that were growing stronger and more vivid with each passing day.

So she would bunk down here for the night, then wake up early to begin her exploration. As eager as she was to solve the mystery eating up such a large chunk of her life, she wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about poking around a dark, dingy, supposedly haunted castle by herself, with nothing to light her way but a flashlight.

Better to wait until morning when she could see, and maybe, if she was lucky, when there would be less chance of running into things that went bump in the night.

Kicking off her boots and jeans, she shook out the hem of her t-shirt until it fell to mid-thigh. As sleepwear went, it was sorely lacking, but it would do for a single night, alone on a dirt floor.

Shoving her feet into the opening of her sleeping bag, she scrunched down and made herself as comfortable as possible. She closed her eyes and yawned again, a faint trace of uneasiness skittering down her spine.

Not for the first time, she felt as though she was being watched, and if her dreams and research could be believed, she had a pretty good idea what—or rather,
who
—her observer might be. The good news was, she didn’t think it—or he—would hurt her.

But since she couldn’t be positive, that was one more reason to put off her search until tomorrow. Confrontations of this sort were better left for the bright light of day.

Screwing her eyes tightly shut, she gave a slight shiver and snuggled deeper beneath the folds of her sleeping bag. If she started thinking about
him
, and rats, and all the other creepy-crawly things that might be sneaking around this place, she’d never get any rest.

And the sooner she fell asleep, the sooner it would be morning, so she could wake up and get started on her quest for—literally—the man of her dreams.

She’d been asleep only a few minutes when the dream began. And she knew it was a dream, knew it was one of
those
dreams, even as she drifted through that delicate space between slumber and reality.

She was in Castle MacKay, curled up in her sleeping bag, but she wasn’t alone. It was no rat or spider keeping her company, either, but a man.

Dougal.

He stepped out of the shadows, all six-plus-feet of him, and walked toward her.

He moved slowly, making no sound as he crossed the earthen floor, giving her a chance to study him. He was bare-chested, wearing nothing more than a kilt and soft-soled, worn leather boots. His hair was black, tousled, and long enough to brush his broad, well-formed shoulders. His green eyes glowed, looking serpentine in the dark, with their thin, vertical pupils.

And his flesh…every inch of that strong, impressive chest that she could see…was covered with a beautiful, almost iridescent sort of tattoo. But not of any picture or form she could make out. Instead, it looked like layer after layer of lovely, colorful…scales.

That might have seemed odd to her, probably had in the beginning, but after so many dreams of this man, she was not only used to the unique markings, but found them attractive and erotic to the extreme.