by Keri Arthur
And she knew then that there was far more to this story than what he was admitting now. “So she wasn’t a werewolf herself?”
“No.”
“She never got over the shock of it?”
“No.”
And neither, obviously, had he. She rose from the bed and walked up behind him. He didn’t move, didn’t react, so she simply put her hands around him and pressed her cheek against his back. He was so tense, his muscles quivered.
“If she loved you, surely she would have eventually seen past that.”
“She got a court order to prevent me going near her.”
The woman was obviously a fool. A fool who didn’t know what she had. “I’m sorry, Ethan.” Sorry for him. Sorry for them.
He took another shuddering breath, then turned and wrapped his arms around her. “So am I.”
His breath stirred her hair, brushed warmth past her ear. His body pressed against hers, filling her with radiant longing. It felt so good. So right.
So how come it could be so wrong?
She lifted her face and met his gaze. The sorrow evident in the brown depths tore at something deep inside her. There wasn’t much she could do about it, except love him in the only way he was willing to accept.
She kissed him. It was a slow and sensual exploration that left them both breathless. He brushed a thumb down her cheek and smiled his sexy smile.
“Shall we retire someplace more comfortable?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t comfortable here last night?”
His smile went up another notch and damn near smoked her insides. “I’m planning something a little slower than last night, and the bed is definitely more pleasant than a rug on the floor.”
“I suppose if you insist—”
“I do.”
He swept her off her feet and carried her over to the bed. He placed her on it gently, then stepped back, his gaze rolling languidly down the length of her body. It was a heated caress that sent a shiver of expectation through every part of her. Her nipples hardened, and the pooling heat between her legs became an ache that was almost unbearable. His gaze completed its erotic journey, then met hers again, almost drowning her in longing.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, lying down beside her.
From that moment on there was little room for talking. As he’d promised, their lovemaking this time was a luscious and thorough exploration. Thought became desire, desire became need, and her whole world became this man who swore he couldn’t love her.
His touch pushed her into a place where only sensation existed. The air was hot and thick and almost impossible to breathe. Every inch of her quivered beneath the relentless assault of his fingers and tongue. When he finally raised himself above her, she was slick with sweat and burning with pleasure, unable to think, unable to do anything more than feel.
For several seconds he held still, his arms trembling with the effort as their gazes met. Something twisted deep inside her. Ethan might not be able to love her, but he wasn’t exactly immune to her, either. There was caring in his eyes.
Slowly, deliberately, he entered her, sliding so very deep, filling her with his rigid heat. The sheer bliss of it had her moaning. He held still again, his lips claiming hers, his kiss passionate and tender.
She wrapped her legs around him and pushed him deeper still. He began to rock, gently at first, touching places that had never been touched before. She could only groan in pleasure as his body drove into hers and the sweet pressure began to build.
He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, his movements becoming more urgent. The pressure built, curling through her body, until it became a tidal wave that would not be denied. She grabbed his shoulders, her fingers trembling, her nails digging into his flesh.
“Oh … God.” Her voice was little more than a fractured whisper. “Please …”
He answered her plea, his thrusts powerful and demanding. Her climax came in a rush that stole her breath, stole all thought, and swept her into a world of sheer, unadulterated bliss. A heartbeat later he went rigid against her, the power of his release tearing her name from his throat. He held her for one last thrust, then his lips sought hers, his kiss a lingering taste of heat.
Then he rolled to one side and gathered her into his arms, holding her close as they drifted off to sleep.
It was only later that she realized they hadn’t used a condom.
KAT WANDERED INTO THE NEXT CABIN AS ETHAN TOOK A shower. The front door was open, and the smell of rain and pine hung heavily in the air. Gwen was visible through the doorway, a steaming mug of coffee held between her knotted hands. She made herself a cup, then joined her grandmother on the porch.
The sky was still heavy with the remnants of the night’s storm, and the chill of winter was in the air. Days like today were best spent huddled in front of a warm fire, chocolate and a good book in hand, not out hunting the dead. Not that they had any choice—not when time was running out for those kids and maybe even themselves.
She ignored the premonition of rising danger and raised her cup to the sky. “If the color of those clouds is anything to go by, it’s going to be a bitch of a day.”
“At least zombies don’t like the cold any more than we do. It slows them down.”
Which could be a good thing if there was a houseful of them to contend with. “You think that’s where Janie and Karen are?”
“Too easy. But the zombies have to be guarding something, so it’s definitely worth a look.”
She sipped her coffee for a moment, watching a small brown bird flit from tree to tree. “Has Seline come through with anything?”
Gwen nodded. “She’s been able to confirm a lot of what we already know, and has found some additional information. This thing is an extremely ancient spirit and apparently very hard to kill.”
“Great,” Kat said sourly.
Gwen’s gaze became speculative as she continued, “As I suspected, it is similar to a vampire, only it feeds on souls rather than blood. It does have one interesting restriction—it can only feed while at the height of passion. But the same sort of weapons that kill a vampire can kill the mara.”
“I attacked it with a stake last night, and it didn’t seem to do much.”
“Was it in human or spirit form?”
“Spirit.”
Gwen nodded. “Apparently it can only be killed in human form. Attacking it at any other time will do little more than wound it.”
No wonder it was so hard to kill. “So why is it taking these kids?”
“That’s the frightening bit. Apparently, when the mara is coming near the end of its life cycle—”
“I’d be resting a whole lot easier if this thing was actually at its end, rather than just near it,” Kat cut in, voice grim. “And just how long do these things actually loll about having fun at humanity’s expense?”
“Eons. And life never-ending is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Kat raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Says who?”
“Says Michael, who’s the oldest vampire in the Circle. According to Seline, he was pretty close to either ending it all or stepping across the line when he met Nikki.”
Kat nodded. She’d met Michael only once, but she had been more than a little overwhelmed by not only his good looks and charm, but the dark aura of destruction that had seemed to shadow him.
“Anyway,” Gwen continued, “when a mara is near the end of its cycle, it breeds. To do this, it needs to find a supernatural to procreate with. Apparently it’s incapable of reproducing with those who are its food source.”
“The werewolf said he had sex with her.” Her partner could hardly be vampire—vampires weren’t fertile.
Gwen nodded. “From here on, it’s purely guesswork, but we think it’s the children’s terror that actually induces fertilization.”
“How many kids is this thing capable of having?”
“That I don’t know, but I suspect it’s more than we might wish.”
A chill raced across Kat’s skin and she shivered. Facing one mara was bad enough. Facing a host of them, whether youngsters or not, was not something she wanted to contemplate.
“So it’s dark emotions she needs to breed,” she said. “Like horror. Terror. Maybe that’s why she’s keeping them alive for six days. Plenty of time for fear to build.”
“Or plenty of time for the current crop of youngsters to siphon off those emotions before the mara uses the kid to create another lot of horrors.”
“Possibly.” Gwen half shrugged. “Seline hasn’t discovered what form the mara’s youngsters take.”
“My guess is we’ll discover that soon enough ourselves.”
“You’re probably right.” Gwen drank her coffee for a few minutes, then said, “So, what’s troubling you, Kitty-cat?”
She smiled. She never could keep anything from her grandmother for very long—not even the faintest of worries. “You remember me saying that both of us were more than able to contain our hormones long enough to take care of protection? Well, last night we forgot.”
Gwen sighed. “That’s always the worry with werewolves. That aura of theirs can be overwhelming sometimes.” She paused, then added with a fond smile, “That’s how your uncle came into being, you know.”
Kat’s smile widened. She hadn’t known that, though it certainly explained why he was the only wolf shifter in a family of ravens.
“Does Ethan know?” Gwen asked.
She shook her head. “We used one this morning, and I cleaned up afterward. I doubt he even thought about it.”
“Are you going to mention it?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. He was so damn vehement about never having kids.”
“Yet he’s obviously very close to this niece of his.” Gwen regarded her thoughtfully. “There’s a story in all that, I’d wager.”
“If there is, it’s not one he’s telling me.” Not yet, anyway. “Besides, I won’t know for a couple of weeks for sure.”
“I can tell you tonight. A day passed is all the stones need to see such things.”
“I know.” But did she want to know? Knowing meant she had to decide whether to tell Ethan or not. He had the right to know, and yet he’d already told her he didn’t want a relationship, let alone kids, and she had no right to trap him that way. Especially when she was more than capable of raising a child by herself.
Gwen sighed. “A kiddy will put a serious dent in our Circle activities. At least for a couple of years.”
The anticipation evident in her voice suggested it was a dent she’d more than welcome. “Don’t start counting your ravens before they hatch.”
“Might be a pup,” Gwen mused. “Mine certainly was.”
“I really don’t care what it is.”
Gwen grinned at her. “Sounds as if you’re certain it happened.”
Deep down she was. Gwen might have scrying and visions, but her own second sight was just as strong, if somewhat more erratic. But she wasn’t about to admit her certainty. Not yet. So she shrugged. “You’re the one who told me they were lethally fertile around moon fever time. With the way my luck has been running of late, it’s bound to be a certainty.”
Gwen touched her arm, squeezing gently. “You should talk to him. Try to find out why he is so against children of his own.”
She sighed. “I’ll try. But digging information out of that man is hard.”
Footsteps echoed across the wooden floors behind them. Ethan appeared two seconds later, a cup of coffee in hand as he stopped beside her. He was close enough that she could smell the fresh soapiness of his skin, yet not close enough for his arm to brush hers. And she sensed this slight distancing was deliberate. That after last night, he needed to put some space between himself and the emotions they’d raised.
And that annoyed the hell out of her.
“Benton just called,” Ethan announced. “The missing kid turned out to be a custody case—just as you’d predicted.”
Gwen nodded. “I’m not usually wrong, you know. I gather he’s on the way back?”
“Yeah. He’s told me to tell you to stay put. He wants to talk to you both about last night.”
“We can’t stay put.” Kat’s voice was sharper than she’d intended and earned an amused look from her grandmother. “We have a house to investigate.”
Ethan nodded. “I told him as much. He ordered me to wait.”
“And are you going to follow his orders?”
“Nope.” He took a sip of coffee, his gaze distant. “Janie’s time is running out. If we don’t find her today or tomorrow, we’re not going to find her at all.”
“I feel the same way, wolf.” Gwen sighed and rose stiffly from the stool. “I’ve got some packs ready with zombie deterrents and sleep potions in them. I’ll just add some stakes, then you’re ready to go.”
ETHAN WATCHED HER WALK AWAY. HER HOBBLING WAS worse this morning and pain pinched her mouth. “Why is your grandmother doing this?” he asked once Gwen had gone.
Kat’s glance was quizzical. “Doing what?”
“This. Chasing bad things. Why do it when she’s old enough to retire?”
“She’s also strong enough to turn you over her knee and paddle your butt for even suggesting such a thing.”
He couldn’t help smiling. “I reckon she’d enjoy it, too.”
Kat’s own smile was fleeting. “You’d better believe it.”
Ethan sipped his coffee and studied Kat. There was strain around her eyes and shadows beneath them. He’d thought they’d settled all their problems last night, but looking at her now, he had to wonder.
“So, why isn’t your mother here helping?”
Her expression tightened. “My mother is dead.”
He hesitated but didn’t apologize. He could never understand exactly why people did that, though as a cop, he’d certainly done enough of it himself.
“Did she die on the job?”
She snorted. “No. She overdosed.”
“Deliberately?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Does any addict overdose deliberately?”
“Yes.” And far too often for anyone’s liking.
Her gaze slid from his. “I have no idea whether it was deliberate or not. Gwen probably knows, but I’ve never asked.”
“Why not?”
“Because I barely knew her.”
“Were you young when she died?”
Her smile was bitter, and her hurt swam around him. “I was ten. But she never had much to do with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I was a hindrance to her social life. Gran raised me from the time I was born.”
And if that hurt was anything to go by, she resented the abandonment, if only on a subconscious level. “And she never tried to help your mother?”
She gave him a long look. “Addicts have to want to be helped before you can help them. You should know that.”
“I reckon your grandmother could convince a cat to shower if she wanted to.”
“I reckon she probably could. But Mom was her daughter and every bit as strong-minded.”
“What about your dad?”
She looked away again. “I never knew my dad.”
He hesitated. Her stance was still and straight, and the emotions that swam around him thick with pain. Yet he had to ask the question, if only because he sensed this could explain why she was the way she was—strong and independent, yet oddly vulnerable. “Why not?”
She looked at him. Tears touched her green eyes but were quickly blinked away. “Because my mother sold herself to feed her habit. My father could have been any one of the dozen men she’d had on the day of my conception.”
It was a familiar enough story—many addicts fed their habit that way. He took a sip of his coffee, then said, “It sounds as if you know who her clients were that day.”
She snorted softly. “I do. I stupidly asked her once. She gave me a very detailed account of the possibilities.”
/> A charming woman, from the sound of it. “And you never tried to track any of them down, just to see?”
She looked at him, her expression closed but her eyes filled with sudden anger. “Why should I? Mom was nothing more than a body on which they rutted to relieve themselves. What difference would it make knowing which one of them was my father?”
So they were back to that again. “Kat—”
She held out a hand. “I’ve heard all the bullshit, Ethan. I don’t want to hear it again.”
“I told you the truth last night.” His voice was amazingly calm, given the anger beginning to surge through his veins. “Don’t keep pushing for what we both know isn’t there.”
“You told me part of the truth,” she shot back. “As much as you thought I needed to know, nothing more.”
“Because there is nothing of importance left to say.” Nothing except the reason his world, his heart, had shattered so completely.
Pain rose like a tide, threatening to engulf him. Even now, all these years later, that night still haunted him. The image of Jacinta, deliberately throwing herself down those stairs … He shuddered and finished his coffee in one long gulp.
It didn’t drown the images of all the blood. On her head, between her legs …
“I’ll wait in the car.” He slammed the cup down on the railing and stalked toward the vehicle.
Kat joined him about ten minutes later. She threw a pack onto the backseat, then fastened her seat belt. He started the car and headed for the mountains.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a few minutes.
She didn’t sound sorry. “Forget it.”
His voice was still brusque, and she sighed. “Ethan, how old were you when you met Jacinta?”
He barely glanced at her. “I told you last night. Seventeen.”
“And she was your first?”
He smiled grimly. “Hardly. When puberty hits, so too does the power of the moon.”
“But she was the first woman you’d really fallen for, as opposed to just mating with?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “Why?”
She regarded him for a second, her green eyes serious. “If she was the first woman you felt anything for, how do you really know she was it, rather than just a rather heated crush?”
