“Well, this werewolf knows where. And he can’t leave my side or lie to me, so we have the perfect opportunity to rescue our cousin.”
Lucas shoved the paper in her hand, and stormed toward the foyer.
Was he leaving? Wheeling around, he marched back. Oh great, he paced. Any second now, he’d give her a lecture.
“This is dangerous. Do you know how long a Keeper Spell lasts? One week. One week you’ll be stuck with this stranger.”
“And I plan on killing her, too,” Chayton threw in with casual indifference.
“Well, that’s just great. A stranger who promises to kill you,” he mocked. “Dammit, Amber, for a twenty-three year-old you act like an irresponsible teenager. Did you even contemplate this?”
No. But, that didn’t matter, Brianna’s safety mattered. “Don’t forget the spell won’t allow any physical harm. He can’t hurt me without hurting himself tenfold.” She cleared her throat, remembering his hands ensnaring her neck.
She had endured a slight impact during his throttle, but the redness that had painted his face declared he’d suffered the most. “If we work fast, we can travel to France in a day or two, and maybe we’ll leave the werewolf in another town before the spell ends.”
“I don’t like this, not one bit,” he muttered. “I’ll have to stay here with you.”
She sneered. “What for?”
“For your protection.” He gawked in that duh expression.
Protection? She stiffened. Did her brother…care?
“No little boyfriend will shield her from me once this week is finished,” Chayton growled.
Lucas spun to face the werewolf. “You’re wrong, and I’m not her boyfriend. I’m her brother.”
Surprise eased the tautness in the werewolf’s features. “That won’t stop me. Right now her scent is locking its way into my senses, and the longer I stay here, the easier I’ll recognise it. Dumping me in a different town may delay me, but I can track her.” Fierce, dark eyes penetrated her. “And I will track you down.”
Warmth snared her arm. She forced her gaze away as her brother directed them past the foyer, nearly knocking the plant by the staircase when he darted upstairs. He led them into the hallway, and she frowned at one of the crooked frames on the wall.
Many of the pictures consisted of her cousins, some of her aunt and uncle, and one large photo of the whole family at the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Rachel’s favourite location. Lucas halted when they approached the bedrooms and were out of hearing range. “Have you tested the spell?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she murmured. “He hurts when he’s distant, or when he tries to harm me, and he’s answered every question I’ve asked him so far.” She held out her hand. “I’m also experiencing what the spell book says; the pressure in my palm is similar to holding a leash.”
His eyes fluttered shut.
Would it kill him to be a little proud?
When he opened them, the glare he gave seemed etched into his face. “We both know how you are with spells. What if something goes wrong?”
Now it made sense. No point expressing his delight when she proved herself a failure time and time again. A few hours ago, he told her to work on her witchcraft, to excel her power and make their parents proud. “Nothing has gone wrong.” Disappointment made her voice hitch.
“Yet.” He clicked his tongue.
“If this letter was written in Désuet, then I could have performed a tracing spell…we didn’t need the wolf.”
Oops…she didn’t realise. How was she meant to know her brother could conduct such a spell? Not like they shared witchcraft formulas. She had never tried a tracing spell, and besides, the werewolf happened to be her only link and she’d acted on the spot.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m exhausted and don’t have the energy to argue.”
“You don’t have to stay here. I told you—”
“What type of brother would I be if I left my younger sister in a house with a werewolf? The clans would drag my name through the dirt. I’m staying.”
This wasn’t about her safety, but his reputation. Already known as a great warlock, might as well add honourable man to the list, too.
“Fine, you can stay.” She held herself together, though she wanted to sink to her knees from the inner awareness of a knife stabbing her heart.
“Whose room are you staying in?”
“Rachel’s old room.”
“I’ll take Brianna’s room across yours. Keep your door locked tonight.” He pointed a finger. “And scream your lungs out if anything happens.”
“What should I do about the wolf?”
He bypassed her, opened the linen closet, and withdrew a spare pillow and clean sheet. Dumping them in her arms, he gave her a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Give him these, or let him sleep in the backyard for all I care. Just put him to bed.”
Put the wolf to bed? As if he were some pet she adopted. He entered the spare bedroom, and she blocked the door with her foot. “Please don’t be mad.”
He stared for a long moment. “How can I not be? You’re such a disappointment.”
She tottered back, and the heavy wood clicked in its frame. Shame heated her cheeks. Would she ever be good enough? At one time in her life she had been respected and appreciated. In high school, perfection and popularity defined her, and the supremacy she experienced had been more invigorating than any old dusty spell-book.
Once she tasted that type of control, she hadn’t let it go for a second. But the power came at a price. To keep herself on top, she believed herself better than everyone. She teased so many kids who she deemed a lower class, and targeted them in front of a crowd.
Guilt ate her insides like a terminal cancer. A year ago, she bumped into one of the girls she had bullied. With a smile and pleasant greeting, Amber had stopped the woman in the supermarket.
Don’t ever speak to me. The woman sneered, then stormed off. Amber had paused in the aisle, sighing like a complete idiot. She couldn’t blame her. High school might be finished, but the damage remained. She was no longer the mean selfish kid, but that didn’t change what she’d done, all those people she once picked on.
Downstairs, she anticipated Chayton’s intimidating glare, but he didn’t gaze in her direction. He stood in front of the TV, back to her, a mobile phone at his ear.
The sheet and pillow slipped from her fingers when she rushed forward. With his six-two height, she jumped and snatched the phone. “I don’t think so!”
He reeled, his dimpled chin tilted. “Give it to me,” he snapped, holding out his hand.
She hit the red button, ended the call, and switched off the cell. “Who were you after? Backup?” She should have seen that coming. Maybe a body search might help, to make sure he wielded no other devices. She observed his masculine frame, and her stomach flipped at the concept of running her hands down him.
“Yes, I tried calling my tribe in Qualla.” He rolled his eyes. “Dammit, there I go with the truth. I want out of this spell!”
“I’m sorry, but once a spell is in place, it can’t be reversed.” She averted her gaze. With her track record, the spell might fail. She dared to look at him. He had one brow raised. Could he sense her doubts? “It’s late. Why don’t we all get a good sleep and figure out the plan tomorrow?”
Wide eyes perceived her like a crazy person. “I won’t help you!”
“You have no choice.” She stomped to the stairs, gathered the discarded pillow and sheet and plunked them in his arms, ignoring the heated sensation of his grimace. He didn’t help when she lugged the coffee table to one side, and carted the cushioned seats off the sofa.
“A sofa-bed?” he said when she unfolded the mattress. “Are you serious?”
Tempted to offer him the backyard, as her brother mentioned, she instead pointed to the clean sheet and pillow. “This should do you fine.”
He dropped the items on the thin mattress, and bent to untie his shoes.
“Um
…” She assessed his clothing. “We’ll buy some new clothes for you tomorrow.” He could not remain in the same wardrobe for the next week.
Again, no response, but his expression conveyed more attitude than a rock band when he started unbuckling his belt. Goodness, he was undressing…in front of her. She retrieved the grocery bag by the coat stand.
“Well, goodnight,” she murmured without glancing his way, unsure if there was a proper farewell to give the man she held prisoner. In the kitchen, she stored the groceries, and avoided eyeing him as she entered the living area and climbed upstairs.
She shut herself in Rachel’s old room, ambled to the mirrored wardrobe, and dumped his phone in the top drawer, then snagged her PJs. A small clink echoed when she closed it.
She flinched, opened the drawer, and peeked at a dark, shiny object in the far back. “What on earth…” She withdrew a half-empty wine bottle. “Crap, Rachel. I knew your drinking was bad, but never this bad,” she muttered.
Rachel had always taken things a bit too far when they partied. At the Annual Armistice Celebration, Amber and Brianna had searched the entire function because Rachel stole a bottle of champagne, but for her cousin to store alcohol in her bedroom…that was a cry for help.
No name or vintner labelled the front. Did wine or a stronger substance fill the bottle? She uncorked it, and took a whiff. Colour drained from her face. Not wine, but blood. Why did Rachel have bottled blood?
Wouldn’t blood need to be refrigerated? Maybe it was protected, and had been used for spells? Some potions required nothing more than a drop or two.
An important question unsettled her, though. Who or what did the blood belong to? She corked the bottle, placed it on the dresser, and sailed into the bathroom. Tomorrow, she would investigate further.
She brushed her teeth, and changed clothes. A soft thud resounded outside the ensuite door. Her heart shot into overdrive. Had something fallen? Hesitant, she treaded out of the bathroom, and glanced about, thorough with each corner. Hell, she double checked beneath the bed. Perhaps the noise emanated inside the walls. She made for the door, and twisted the lock. Her brother was right. Given her history, she couldn’t be sure the Keeper Spell would suffice, and the last thing needed was to awaken during the night to one furious werewolf eager for revenge.
She settled into bed, but doubted sleep would ease her reeling mind. What seemed like forever, her eyes fixed to the ceiling. At some point, her bare feet flattened over soft grass. A wide meadow stretched for miles, a place never seen in real life and yet very familiar. Different shades of green extended the thick field. Families of tiny flowers blossomed, resembling little beads on a quilt of dirt and grass.
A white short-sleeved summer dress hugged her curves, and her strawberry-blonde hair rested against her spine like a silk shawl. The woody burn of smoke danced past, and grey-white swirls verified a campfire on a hilltop.
She smiled, welcoming the tingling sense of safety and contentment. So, sleep had taken over after all. Without doubt she slept, because she recognised this dream.
Ahead, a wolf with a thick black mane led the way. “Right where I left you, Darkness.” He always kept a distance, but she did not fear the animal. In fact, so accustomed with it, she named him Darkness. She quickened her pace toward the campfire, anxious to reach the top.
Not once had she made it, but today would be different. “Isn’t that right, Darkness,” she called, fisting her dress, and stretching her legs for longer strides, delighted by the tall grass tickling her calves.
A shadow danced above the hilltop, and she groaned, aware of what would soon happen. Darkness dashed up with determination. Another silhouette passed, lingering. Would she ever make it to the campfire?
She focussed on the field, but now recognised the shapes of furniture in Rachel’s room. Crap, I woke up. Why this dream kept reoccurring was beyond her. The first happened months ago, and transpired every few nights. Her mouth was dry, as if she’d swallowed sand, and she slipped out of bed, unlocking the bedroom door.
Too dark to see where she walked, she held onto the rail when she descended the stairs, and carefully entered the room. One click of her fingers set the small kitchen with light, and she opened the fridge for a chilled water bottle. The green digits on the microwave displayed three a.m.
Fresh coolness moistened her throat, and she softly moaned, gulping the icy liquid. Rustling sheets made her pause mid-sip. She peered into the living room. Had Chayton awoken?
He tossed again, the tension in his brow strained his handsome features, and she swallowed hard. The fact he remained here against his will filled her with sadness. She’d rather set him free, but her cousin’s life was in jeopardy. His eyes remained shut tight…too tight, and he mumbled in his sleep.
Amber stepped closer.
“I must find you. Where can I find you?”
Who was he speaking of? A friend, wife, or perhaps a lover? Unmindful of her movements, she pursued a few more steps.
“I must find you…please.”
With gentle care, she leaned forward. Concern occupied the corridors of her mind, and she considered waking him, relieving him from his nightmare. The sheet slipped to his waist, uncovering every inch of delicious, naked skin. Only then did she notice the pile of discarded clothes beside the bed. Desire stirred within, heating like a saucepan on a hot stove.
Shame should greet her with the emotion. He was a werewolf, a natural enemy, regardless of the peace treaty between the species. He made no mistake of his hatred, and yet, she found herself attracted to this man. Unable to stop her actions, she ran a fingertip along one dark brow. The simple caress eased the rigidness in his face, and his lips twitched into a half-smile.
“I will find you,” he whispered. “I promise I’ll find you.”
She shot back. Why did she touch him? Had she no self-control? She dashed to the kitchen, switched off the light, and staggered in the dark when she rushed upstairs. In the bedroom, she locked the door, and hopped into bed. The stupid act in the living room replayed in her mind, and she cringed, eager to forget what happened.
Hours passed as she tossed beneath the covers. Her languid body confirmed the need for sleep, but her mind kept producing images of a frightened Brianna outside the teashop. The horrible vision was soon replaced with the setting of tall grass. Peace in its softest sense engulfed her, and she hiked through the same meadow. The dream never occurred twice in one night.
“Darkness?” She couldn’t see her black wolf ahead, and peeked over her shoulder. A man stalked toward her, shouting something. She paused to listen, but her limbs throbbed to keep walking, to make it to the campfire.
“I must find you. Where can I find you?”
The blood in her veins formed to ice. What did he say?
“I must find you…please.”
Chayton followed her? How could that be? She waited for him to approach. He gave a tender smile, his expression more handsome than his usual glower. “I promised I’d find you,” he whispered. She would have returned the grin if his hadn’t faded, as though realising who he spoke to.
Calloused hands snared her neck, his grip tightened, and so did her air supply. Choking, she thrashed to no avail. Stop, she wanted to scream, but focussed on sucking air into her lungs. The sight of him asleep must have mixed with her thoughts and now her dream. This wasn’t real.
Wake up, dammit. Wake up.
Chapter 3
She would pay. She would suffer. He’d make sure Amber Johnson never had another opportunity to humiliate him. Chayton grabbed a bunch of shirts from the bag and threw them on the sofa—aka, his bed for the next few torturous days. A midday breeze drifted through the front window, doing little to ease the raging anger within.
The brother, Lucas, or whatever his name was, had headed out this morning and bought him new clothes. The warlock didn’t do too bad with size…but yellow? He held out the bright shirt, and blanched. This might do if he wanted to impersonate a Power Ran
ger. Glancing over his shoulder, he hoped they glimpsed his scowl.
Past the adjacent archway into the kitchen, Lucas with his big-ass safety goggles, poured different coloured liquids into a beaker. Chayton observed him in silence. All his life, he’d been aware of witches but never witnessed one in action. The warlock resembled a mad scientist on a mission. With any luck, he would not require a lab rat.
Amber strode from the counter to the dining table, still on the damn phone. How someone paced in the same groove for two hours, he didn’t understand. Every now and then, the little experiment proceeding in the kitchen snagged her attention. Did interest keep her face solemn or was that an expression of jealousy? Maybe she was tired. Grey smears circled her eyes, and he guessed she hadn’t slept much. And yet, his mattress was so thin, he’d need a massage to release the knots in his back.
Several phone calls were made throughout the day, and from the few scraps of overheard conversations, she invited witches here tonight to plan a rescue party.
After centuries of fighting and finally peace, this little mission might restart the war between the species. He could just imagine the handful of witches confronting an entire cave of vampires? What a joke. And he stood in the midst of things.
He collected the hideous, candy-coloured t-shirts, and placed them in the bag. The witches had their hands full, and though bored out of his mind, he refused to pace the floor like Amber. TV made a passable diversion from this madness. He seized the remote off the wooden coffee table, and sprawled across the sofa.
If only he was in his gym right now, working on the list of paperwork in the in-box or, better yet, doing a few deadlifts out on the floor. QG—aka, Qualla Gym—was his baby.
He worked hard, saved the money, and bought out the old warehouse before starting renovations. Now, the place was a successful business, and something to call his own.
He hoped Ian, his business partner and best friend, kept things running. Ian might be great with clients, but details and paperwork weren’t his strong points.
Flicking several channels, he stopped when he spotted a basketball game. “Oh yeah, now we’re talking.” A repeat of the one he’d missed played on the sports network. The Grizzlies were his favourite team, and Ian had mentioned this being a great match. He tapped at the remote until the volume attained full bar and vibrated the speakers.
Hateful Desire Page 3
