Phantom Embrace (10 page)

Cat jackknifed up in bed and swung around.

Yuri stood just inside the door, clad in a black T-shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. A scowl creasing his forehead, he looked around the room that was now devoid of his belongings.

His eye fell upon Cat. His scowl fell away. “Hello, sweetheart.”

Leaping from the bed, Cat raced toward him.

Yuri grinned and opened his arms.

She hit him hard, his body as tangible to her now as it had been in his dreams. Sobs erupted from her chest as she hugged him tight.

* * *

Yuri wrapped his arms around Cat and squeezed her lithe form against him. “Shhh,” he crooned when she burst into tears. “It's okay, Cat. Don't cry.”

Her breath coming in harsh gasps, she wept into his chest. Her hands fisted in the back of his shirt as she attempted to burrow even closer.

“Come now,” he pleaded when she continued to sob. Easing back, he cupped her face in his hands and forced her to look up at him. “Why the tears?” He drew his thumbs over her wet cheeks, wiping away the moisture. “I didn't suffer, if that's why you're crying. And . . .” Dipping his head, he brushed a gentle kiss over her lips. “We can be together now. We won't ever have to settle for dreams again.”

She curled her small hands around his wrists. “I thought I'd lost you.”

He frowned. “Surely you knew I would come to you.”

“I
hoped
you would, but it's been so long.”

“What do you mean? I just died yesterday.”

Her eyebrows rose. “What?”

“I just died yesterday. In the battle at the mercenary compound. I wanted to come to you as soon as it happened, but . . .” He swallowed hard. Moisture burned the backs of his eyes. “I heard them say the explosion took Stanislav and tried to find him. Or rather his spirit. I wanted to say good-bye.”

“Did you?”

He shook his head. “There were so many other spirits released during the battle. I see why you never stayed after I slew the vampires when you joined me on my hunts.”

She nodded.

“When I didn't find Stanislav on the battlefield, I thought I might find him at some of his favorite haunts.” He grimaced. “Bad choice of words, I suppose. But it took me a while to get the hang of thinking where I wanted to go and ending up in the right place. When hours passed and I couldn't find him, I assumed he had crossed over or whatever it is spirits do when they don't linger here. I knew you would be anxious to see me—”

“Yuri,” she interrupted. “It hasn't been hours. Or a day. The battle at the mercenary compound took place weeks ago.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“You died weeks ago.” New tears rose in her eyes. “I thought . . .” She shook her head. “When you didn't come to me, I thought I'd lost you. I thought that, like Stanislav, you'd crossed over.”

“No,” he murmured, stunned that so much time had passed. Drawing her to him, he rested his cheek on her hair. “No. I would never leave you, Cat. I love you. I'm sorry.” He hugged her tighter. “I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have looked for Stanislav beyond the battlefield without coming here first had I known . . .” He shook his head. “For me, it feels like only hours have passed.”

She nodded. “It was the same for me when I disappeared after Zach did whatever he did with that blast of power.”

Yuri glanced around the room. “No wonder my things are gone.”

“Dmitry came and collected them.”

Sorrow filled him at the thought of his Second. “How is he?”

“Grieving. They all are.”

Yuri felt the same sorrow, knowing he would never be able to speak to his friends again.

Well, except for Marcus, if he could convince his friend to abandon his no-communication-with-spirits rule.

“Did Marcus tell you what happened?” he asked.

“Only that you had been killed in battle and didn't suffer. He didn't go into any details.”

Good. Yuri didn't want her to know he had been decapitated after he'd been rendered unconscious.

She raised her head. “
Did
you suffer, Yuri?”

He shook his head. “No, sweetheart. I didn't feel a thing,” he was able to tell her with complete honesty. “One moment I was fighting mercenaries, and the next I found myself standing amidst the smoldering rubble of the armory.” He grimaced. “I didn't realize I was dead until one of the network soldiers walked right through me. I can't tell you how furious I was that I had let one of those mercenary bastards get the drop on me.”

At last she smiled. “I'm sure you were.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “And then,” he told her softly, “I was filled with such joy, Cat. Such excitement. Because I knew we could finally be together. No restrictions. No limitations.” He pressed a gentle kiss upon her lips. She felt so real to him now. As real as she had in the dreams. “I couldn't wait to get back to you. Had I not heard Alexei say Stanislav was dead, I would have been here sooner.” He frowned. “At least, I
think
I would have. I still can't believe weeks have passed instead of hours. Did it really take me that long to figure out how to go from place to place?”

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter. You're here now.”

He smiled. “And I'll never leave you again.”

Rising onto her toes, she slid her arms around his neck and took his mouth in a scorching kiss.

When his heart began to slam against his ribs, Yuri broke the passionate contact in surprise. “I can feel my heart beating.”

She grinned. “I know. I can feel mine, too. I can't explain it.”

He kissed her again, loving the feel of her, the taste of her, so happy to be with her. Lifting her, he encouraged her to wrap her legs around his waist and prepared to topple her onto the bed.

“Wait,” she whispered.

He groaned. “It's been weeks.”

“For me. But only a day for you.”

“I know. Far too long.” His body already burned for her.

She laughed. “Put me down. I want to show you something.”

Grumbling a bit, Yuri lowered her feet to the floor.

Cat took his hand and backed away. “Come with me.”

Arching a brow, he smiled. “Where are we going?”

She tugged him through the door and out into the hallway. Eyes sparkling, she led him upstairs, through David's empty study, and pulled him through the wall.

Squinting, Yuri threw up a hand and winced as bright sunlight struck him.

Cat stopped and stood, smiling up at him.

Cautiously, Yuri lowered his arm. The sun's rays washed over him, bringing a startlingly tangible warmth.

No pain. No burning. No blistering.

“It can't harm me now,” he marveled, holding out his arms and basking in the brightness he hadn't been able to enjoy for more than a moment or two in centuries.

“No,” she confirmed, her brown eyes alight with love. “It will never hurt you again.”

Yuri grinned, then leered as inspiration struck. “Have you ever made love outside with sunlight stroking your bare, beautiful body?”

Shaking her head, she backed away. One step. Two. “No.”

He began to stalk her. “Do you
want
to make love with sunlight stroking your bare, beautiful body?”

She nodded, a playful smile toying with her lips.

His body hardened with anticipation.

Her hands gripped her skirts. “But you'll have to catch me first.” Yanking the material up to her knees, she spun around and took off running.

Laughing in delight, Yuri raced after her.

Turn the page to see where it all started,
in
Darkness Dawns
. . .

 

 

 

Once, Sarah Bingham's biggest challenge was making
her students pay attention in class. Now, after rescuing
a wounded stranger, she's landed in the middle of a battle
between corrupt vampires and powerful immortals who
also need blood to survive. Roland Warbrook is the most
compelling man Sarah has ever laid hands on. But his desire
for her is mingled with a hunger he can barely control . . .

 

In his nine centuries of immortal existence,
no woman has tempted Roland as much as Sarah.
But asking her to love him is impossible—
it means forfeiting the world she's always known,
and the life he would do anything to protect . . .

A strident screech pierced the predawn quiet.

The hair on the back of her neck rising, Sarah Bingham surveyed the meadow around her. The sky had gone from black to charcoal gray, a harbinger of sunrise that did little to alleviate the gloom. In the nine months North Carolina had been her home, she had heard some creepy animal calls, but that one had sounded downright human.

Couldn't have been.
She lived way out in the boonies with no nearby neighbors.

Struggling to shake off her unease, she impaled the soil with a shovel, turned it over, then repeated the process that would ultimately culminate in a vegetable garden. The unseasonable heat she had hoped to avoid by starting early added a glimmer of moisture to her skin as she grappled with the drought-hardened ground.

Oh
yeah. A few hours of this and she would definitely collapse into an exhausted slumber.
Screw you, insomnia!
The spring semester was over. Her students were gone. She was going to sleep tonight if it killed her.

Loud snarling, growling sounds abruptly split the air, accompanied by cracks and thumps and the snap of branches.

Starting violently, Sarah gripped the wooden handle of the shovel and stared at the heavy undergrowth in front of her with wide, unblinking eyes.

The foliage began to thrash and sway. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Oh crap!
Weren't there bears in North Carolina?

Branches and leaves exploded outward as a massive dark form, moving so fast she couldn't see it clearly, charged toward her.

Too panicked to even scream, she dropped the wooden handle and raised her arms to protect her face, head, and neck.

A heavy weight crashed into her left side. Feet flying up, she hit the ground hard on her back two or three yards away. Dry soil and twigs abraded her hands as she threw them out to the sides. Something tore through her right shirtsleeve and cut her elbow. A painful throbbing invaded her ribs.

Rolling onto her stomach, Sarah jerked her head up and looked around wildly in time to see the trees that bisected this end of the meadow envelop . . . whatever had barreled into her.

Quiet settled upon the clearing.

Wincing, she pressed a hand to her aching side and scrambled to her feet.

The growls and thrashing resumed, even louder than before.

Adrenaline surging through her veins, shortening her breath, speeding her pulse, she grabbed the shovel with shaking hands, turned it upside down, and held it like a baseball bat.

She didn't know what that thing was, but if it came back, she was going to knock it six ways from Sunday.

“Where'd they go?” a voice called out breathlessly.

Sarah jumped and glanced at the trees that bordered the meadow on her right.

“That way! Straight ahead! Don't lose 'em!”

Two figures, mere shadows amid the dense, dark brush, moved as quickly as they could in the same direction as the . . . thing. Only visible for a brief moment before the trees swallowed them again, they didn't appear to have noticed her. The long-sleeved green shirt she wore over a black tank top and sweat pants must have made her blend into the dim scenery.

The growling ceased. So did the thumps and thrashing.

Sarah took a cautious step backward. Then another.

“Ah man!” the first voice blurted. “I think I'm gonna puke!”

“Don't be such a wuss.”

What the hell was going on? Had those guys been chasing a bear?

It had to have been a bear, right?

“Aren't you gonna kill him?” the second voice asked.

“Let the sun finish him,” sneered a new voice, deep and full of malice.

“What do you want us to do?” the second countered.

“Stay until it's over,” the third instructed, his words softened by a British accent, “then bring me whatever is left of him.”

Sarah continued to inch toward the wall of greenery that separated the meadow from her backyard, trying not to make any sound that might alert them to her presence.

Who were you supposed to call when you thought someone was torturing wild animals? 911? Animal Control?

“Is he gone?” the first voice asked uneasily.

“Yeah,” the second responded.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah-yeah. He's gone. He's gone.”

“Dude! That was the most awesome thing I've ever seen in my life!”

“Didn't I tell ya?”

Wasn't torturing animals the first step toward becoming a serial killer?

“Hey, what are you doin'?” the first asked.

“Cuttin' his clothes off.”

Sarah froze, ice filling her veins.
His clothes?

“Dude, that's so gay.”

“I'm not gay, asswipe. I wanna see what the sun's gonna do to him.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Get his boots.”

A man? That couldn't have been a man that had knocked her down. It had been huge, had growled, and had crossed the clearing
way
too fast to have been human.

Yet, it sounded as if their victim
was
a man, not an animal.

And, apparently, they weren't through with him.

Spinning around, she took three quick steps, intending to hurry home and call 911.

“Hey, Bobby,” the second said, “you ever stabbed anyone before?”

She halted.

“No.”

“Check this out.”

“Dude!”

Crap!
Reversing direction, she crossed the clearing as quickly and quietly as she could. Her stinging hands tightened around the shovel handle. Sweat beaded on her skin. The bitter taste of fear invading her mouth, she entered the trees and crept forward.

She was a music professor, not a police officer!

But it would take too long for the police to arrive. She lived so far from town....

“You wanna try it?”

“Won't they be pissed if we cut him up?”

“Not as long as he's still breathin' when the sun hits him. And if he's not, who cares? How're they gonna know?”

The trees weren't as thick here as she had thought. After just a few steps, Sarah stood at the edge (with any luck, still concealed by their branches) and peered anxiously into the next field.

A whiff of rank body odor struck her.

There were three men. One, whose face was hidden from view, lay on the ground on his back, what she could see of him bare. His arms had been pulled away from his sides and appeared to be held down by something she couldn't glimpse through the tall grasses. Closer to her, his ankles had been lashed together with . . . rope? The weeds obscured them too much to tell. But they, too, were held down, judging by the way his thigh muscles continually flexed and strained.

A blond in faded jeans and a yellow T-shirt straddled the man's thighs, his back to Sarah. A second with brown hair stood beside him, mostly turned away, gaping down at the naked man.

Though she only caught a quick impression of their faces, Sarah guessed the assailants were around twenty years old.

The blond suddenly raised both hands above his head, his fingers curled around the grip of a pocketknife, then slammed them down.

The naked man jerked and grunted with pain.

The brunet yelled, “Dude! Awesome!”

Sickened, terrified, trembling uncontrollably, Sarah stepped out of the trees, skulked forward, and swung the shovel.

The blond looked up at his accomplice. “You wanna—”

Yellow Shirt slumped sideways, hit the ground, and lay still.

The second man gaped at his friend in stupefaction, then spun toward Sarah . . . just as she swung again.

Right between the eyes.

“
Oww!
”

Staggering back a step, he swore profusely, blinked hard several times, then frowned.

That did it. His pale eyes rolled back in his head as he sank bonelessly to the ground.

When Sarah turned her attention to the naked man, her stomach lurched and she thought for a moment she might be sick.

He had indeed been restrained. Thick, rough rope stained with blood bound his ankles and had rubbed his skin raw. A T-shaped metal spike as thick as her thumb had been driven into the ground between them, immobilizing him and cutting deep grooves into his flesh. Identical spikes had been driven through the palm of each hand, pinning his arms to the ground.

It was as if they had wanted to crucify him but, lacking the necessary lumber, had staked him to the ground instead.

“Oh shit.” The whisper escaped her involuntarily.

If the stakes weren't enough, two stab wounds marred his abdomen, courtesy of the blond. Deep gashes, weeping copious amounts of blood, scored the man's muscled arms, chest, and legs.

As she fought back nausea, Sarah directed her gaze to his face.

He was perhaps in his mid-thirties and handsome, despite the clenched jaw and lines of pain that bracketed his mouth and eyes. Short, jet black hair. Matching brows. Straight nose. Piercing, dark brown eyes that caught and held hers as she unlocked her stiff limbs and forced herself to move forward.

* * *

Gritting his teeth, Roland watched the woman kneel beside him and set the shovel down within easy reach.

He had heard someone approaching while the damned blond plunged his blade into him and had expected yet another of the vampires' minions to join them. Gathering what little energy was left in him, he had been preparing to make an unlikely attempt to telekinetically force the bastard to stab
himself
on the next go-round when the kid had suddenly stiffened, then keeled over, revealing a woman in a Bugs Bunny baseball cap.

She couldn't be more than five feet tall and wouldn't weigh a hundred pounds dripping wet. As she grabbed pieces of his discarded shirt and put pressure on his wounds, Roland could feel her violent trembling.

Who was she?

She had risked her life to save him. Why?

“Thank you,” he managed to bite out past the increased pain she unintentionally caused him in her attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

She nodded, wide hazel eyes meeting his. “I—I have to call 911,” she said, her voice soft and shaky. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“No.” The vamps who had ambushed him—those who had survived, anyway—had nabbed it.

She looked at the unconscious men. “Maybe one of
them
has one. If they don't, I can run to my house, call, and be back in—”

“There isn't time,” he interrupted, sensing the rapidly approaching dawn. “I suffer from a condition that causes extreme photosensitivity.”

Her brow furrowed. “Is that like an allergy to bright light?”

“Yes. If I'm still here when the sun rises, the pain I'm experiencing now will multiply a hundredfold.”

She glanced past him at the brightening horizon, her pretty face filling with dismay. “Please tell me you're joking.”

“I'm not.”

She met his gaze. “You're serious?”

“Very much so. Already weakened as I am, the sun will probably kill me.”

“But I . . . I mean, you're . . . What should I do?”

“Free me.”

“
How?
There are metal spikes in your hands!”

“Pull them up.”

Her face blanched. “What?”

He couldn't blame her for hesitating. He didn't relish the idea himself but would really prefer it to roasting. “Please. I tried to do it myself and couldn't.”

She looked at the hand closest to her with obvious dread.

“There's no other way.”

Swallowing hard, she scooted over and placed a knee on the ground on either side of his hand.

Roland braced himself as she gripped the horizontal bar at the top of the spike, squeezing her fingers between it and his palm. Flames shot through his hand and up his arm at the slight jostling. He thought he hid it well until she apologized.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

He gave his head a swift shake. Even that hurt. “Just pull.”

Nodding gamely, looking a bit green about the gills, she pulled.

The stake didn't move.

Lips compressing, she tried again. The spike shifted, lifted perhaps an inch, then stopped.