Harlequin Nocturne September 2014 Bundle: Beyond the MoonImmortal Obsession

by Michele Hauf

  “We’ve seen the last of Magic Dust,” the hunter said, standing and grabbing a T-shirt to pull on. “I can promise that.”

  “Excellent.”

  Kaspar Rothstein was one of Rook’s best knights, and he had recently hooked up with a pretty little witch who made her home on the edge of FaeryTown. Kaz had been recruited into the Order when he was seventeen, the youngest knight to take vows. Tor had found him.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d take some time to update the database with the information you gleaned regarding the sidhe while on the investigation,” Rook said. “You had a few close calls with the Sidhe Cortege, yes?”

  Kaz rubbed a hand over a hip where Rook suspected one of those close calls had landed. “Oh yeah. But Zoë fixed it up for me. She’s an amazing healer. You know, the Order should consider having a healer on staff.”

  It was a good idea, and Rook was surprised he’d not considered it over the centuries. Probably because he had a way of healing that was more appealing than being tended to by a physician or healer.

  “I’ll take that under consideration. I’m conducting a private investigation in my office. Keep your distance, will you?”

  He left the knight nodding and probably wondering at that statement. Rook knew he had an abrupt manner, but it was a powerful tool for a trainer and for a man who had centuries of secrets to keep under wraps. He’d learned that less talk and more action was the optimal way to teach, learn and guide. Because he wasn’t much for small talk, the method suited him well.

  In the lounge where a full kitchen was kept stocked, he brewed fresh espresso, found some cream in the fridge, then wandered back to his office.

  He found Verity gazing at a sketch on the screen. The box of macarons was open to reveal three missing treats. Good girl. Rook walked up behind her and recognized the face on the monitor.

  “That’s Johnny Santiago,” he said. “It wasn’t him.”

  “I know. He’s too pretty to be the creep that bit me. Thanks,” she said, taking the cup from him and sipping. He’d poured in a lot of cream after noticing her wince in the car. He liked his brew tough. “I’ve seen him before, though.”

  “Hanging with his glamour tribe, no doubt.”

  “Glamour tribe?”

  “Bunch of young vamps who strut around the city like they own it. Call themselves the Incroyables. Shambling in their wake are human women who all want to give blood to the pretty vampires. Surprised they don’t sparkle.”

  “You don’t like him much, do you?”

  Rook laughed at the ease with which he’d allowed his bias to show. “I think it’s silly, actually. Johnny’s a good kid. Sings in a rock band, too. I’m familiar with his father, Vaillant, and his mother—”

  “Is Lyric! I work with her. That’s why I recognize him. Huh. I had no idea he was so handsome. Looks a lot like his dad.”

  “You mentioned you work for the Demon Arts Troupe.”

  “Yes, I have a fire throwing act. Go figure, eh? Do you have anything against the troop?”

  “Not a thing. It amazes me that they perform for the general public, and the humans never seem to catch on that they are watching actual paranormals. Risky.”

  “You speak of humans as if you are not one of them.”

  “I am human. Yet Oz makes me immortal.”

  “If you got your soul back, what would happen?”

  He propped a thigh up on the desk and set his cup down next to hers. “After four centuries of entrapment inside me, Oz would be free.”

  “You want the demon to have that. I sense you two are…well, close is the obvious word, but more…”

  “Friends. When you live with a demon inside you like I have long enough, it’s bound to happen.”

  “And what about you? What will a soul mean to you?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll be the same as I ever was, just without Oz and without the ability to see others’ truths.”

  “All except mine.” Her eyes twinkled. She liked that he couldn’t read her, and he would kill to know why he could not.

  I have no idea.

  Thanks, Oz. I’ll figure it out.

  “And you’d then be merely mortal,” she said as her concentration flicked from sketch to sketch on the screen.

  And he’d then be mortal.

  Rook wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d lived so long he couldn’t imagine facing final death. Yet, every time he faced a vampire he stood before probable death—or a close facsimile of it. He could take a lot of damage, and he always seemed to survive. It was Oz’s presence that made him something more than human, able to heal rapidly and impervious to most damage inflicted, be it by blade, bullet or bite.

  Could he handle mortality?

  You can.

  And so he would.

  “Other than Johnny Santiago, did you find any other familiar faces?”

  “I…no.”

  Verity’s shoulders slumped. Her gaze lingered on the Ladurée box.

  Rook’s eyes outlined the curves of her breasts beneath the low-cut dress. Despite his warning to her earlier to keep business, well, business, he decided he wasn’t going to let her leave his company until he’d touched those utterly soft, alluring breasts. And kissed them, too.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I got a good look at the creep, but now I’m not so sure. There was one face.” She scrolled back a few pictures to a sketch Rook recognized as a drawing done by Lark, the Order’s only female knight. Lark did detailed drawings; she was meticulous in all her actions. “He’s similar, but I don’t know. I think the eyes are wrong. They were narrower. More…shifty.”

  Rook noted the vamp was a known Zmaj tribe member. No name attached to the sketch, though. One step closer to Slater? The vamps he’d slain the other night had to have been Zmaj because the bloody handprint Verity’s attacker had left on her cheek. He was still so far from learning where, exactly, they gathered.

  “A possibility, though?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll check him out.”

  “Thanks. If you shaved his head, then maybe. I’m not sure. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help. I need you to catch this guy.”

  He caught the desperation in her tone. “You need me to?”

  “I uh…well, you know. Can’t have a crazy vampire running about Paris. Who knows who he’ll go after next? Might be a human woman who doesn’t have the ability to throw fire to scare off his buddies. I don’t even want to think about it.”

  Yes, and he should be more focused on finding the vampire. Not compelled to lean closer to Verity because she smelled so good and because he wanted to figure out the exact shade of her hair. Aubergine or eggplant? Violet? No, not bright enough. It was like the deep folds within rumpled purple satin.

  She smiled at him over the brim of the cup. “Now you’re the one staring at me.”

  “Best view I’ve had in ages,” he offered. “I wish I could look longer, but I do have some follow-up work to do now that you’ve given me a lead. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “That’s okay. We’re close to where I practice for the troupe. I’m going to walk to the gym. Got a show tonight, and I want to make sure the routine is perfect.”

  “Where are you performing?”

  “In a theater near the Seine. It’s a para show. No humans allowed. So that means we can pull out all the tricks and be real. I’d invite you, but you’ll be out looking for the vampire.”

  “I will. Should I tell you to break a leg?”

  “You can, but I’d prefer to stay in one piece and hope for some wicked fire instead.”

  “To wicked fire, then.”

  He leaned in and kissed her nose, and her lashes fluttered against his cheek. A sweep of his fingers along
her collarbone, and he moved down to trace the tops of her breasts. That she thrust back her shoulders in reaction pleased him. Her body sought his touch.

  “I’d keep you here longer, but I don’t think the Order would appreciate what I have in mind to do with you if you did stay.”

  “Sounds promising.” She stood and hooked her purse over an arm. Again, her gaze strayed to the macarons.

  Rook strolled his fingers over the curved rows of colored cookies and paused above the pink one. He glanced to Verity. Her face revealed neither want nor disgust. It was probably raspberry or cherry flavor. Too sweet. He tapped the edge of a pale green treat and took it out.

  “Pistachio,” she offered. “Good choice.”

  “Not for me.” He held the macaron to her lips and she bit into it, closing her eyes as she did. Such pleasure she took in the taste—he wished he could know the same delight as her mouth tasted him. “But not your favorite?” he guessed.

  “How did you know?”

  “I assume you’ve eaten the favorites already.”

  “I could be saving them for last.” She leaned in, and he fed her another bite. “I like pistachio, but I love chocolate and vanilla.”

  “The most common flavors. Interesting.”

  “Ladurée’s chocolate and vanilla. Now if you had brought me macarons from Paul, you’d best be sure to bring lemon.”

  “I’ll make a note of that.”

  He held up the last tiny bit of macaron and Verity tongued it, tipping it into her mouth. Her eyes held his as she chewed and swallowed. Then she dashed out her tongue to lick off the tiny crumbs from his thumb. He’d been hoping she’d taste him. The slide of her tongue along the side of his thumb electrified his nerve endings and made all things on him stand up at attention. Yes, all things.

  She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. A quick kiss to his thumb, and she made show of placing the cover over the box and tugging at her skirt hem. “Should we make another date?”

  “Let’s play it by ear.” He knew a woman would prefer a definite time and place, but if he were going to focus on the job, he didn’t want to disappoint by breaking that date if he did find the vampire she’d pinned. “I know where you live. And now that I’ve gotten a taste of you…” He traced her lip with his thumb. “…you’ll have a hard time keeping me away. You’ll see me sooner than you expect.”

  “I like the sound of that.” She touched him over his heart, as if she were him and was attempting to read his truth. A tilt of her head spilled that gorgeous hair over her shoulder.

  “Can you read my place in this world?” he asked.

  She frowned and nodded. “You’re exactly where you should be, but not entirely all there. Must be the missing soul. You believe I’m wrong about you having a child, though, so who knows if I can read you correctly or not?”

  “You can’t be right all the time.”

  “I usually am. And that frustrates me. Still, I feel connected to you in a way that I’ve never noticed with anyone before. And that’s not because I’m hot for you.”

  He took her hand and kissed it, holding it against his cheek to savor her natural warmth. “You are?”

  “You’re the sexiest hunter I’ve ever known. You’ve cooked for me. And your kisses make my toes curl. What’s not to be hot for?”

  “But the connection is different?”

  “Yes. I’ll figure it out. I always do. I’ll see you sooner than I expect.”

  She was going to leave him with a quick kiss to his mouth, but Rook hooked an arm about her waist and changed her intentions with a long, deep joining that stirred every part of him alert and made him question exactly what he was getting himself into.

  A connection to a woman who had once held his soul? Interesting. If only he had been there to protect her from the vampire in the first place, he might have his soul right now. And then he could release Oz.

  And become mortal.

  He pressed harder into the kiss but only because he needed to stop thinking about the what-ifs and take it day by day. Today, he got to kiss and hold a beautiful witch.

  It had been a long time since he’d done that.

  Reaching behind him, he palmed the box and tucked it into her hand. “Thanks, Verity.”

  Chapter 5

  Verity hung upside down, her knees bent over the bottom of a four-foot-diameter steel trapeze hoop. The stagehands had pulleyed her above the stage, which loomed thirty feet below. Seated in a half circle of tiered bleachers, the rapt audience watched her juggle fireballs. This was her final trick, and she’d practiced months to perfect it.

  Most would claim it impossible to conjure fire from out of thin air. A combustible material and some sort of oxidizer exposed to a heat source were requirements to make fire, according to the scientists.

  But within the realm of the unseen and the paranormal, fire could be coaxed from elementals. And Verity had built a trust with the fire elementals. She never used fire as a means to destroy or harm (unless she was forced to defend), so it was always on hand when she needed it.

  Closing her eyes, she focused inward and clutched the fireballs gently as she slowly began to grow them. From each ball—about the size of a softball—she began to send out smaller golf-ball–sized flames. They fell slowly and as if tethered to the larger fireball and would not reach the stage until she wished them to.

  A shift of her hips twisted her body in the air, and the steel circle began to slowly spin. She used her body weight to increase the speed as her hands fed out more fireballs. Spinning out below her, the fire formed a tornado of blaze down to the floor, where the flames landed in a steel circle designed to contain them and keep all the fire controlled.

  On cue, the trapeze began to lower, and she shifted her hips to swing wider, around the blazing column. This was the hard part because should she skim the flames, they would burn her skin where she did not wear the protective cream. She covered as much of her skin as she could with a specially blended fire retardant she made herself, but there was always a risk she’d miss a spot.

  Spinning above the flame tornado, she thrust out her arms, ceasing to release more fire but working to control the column, expanding it and narrowing it. Then, with a grand clap, the trapeze was dropped dramatically. She spun through the flames, dispersing them into the air where fire spittles fizzled to embers and then ashed out.

  Flipping her body upright, she jumped onto the stage at the appropriate time that her head would have hit had she still been upside down. The audience cheered madly, and Verity took a bow.

  * * *

  Beneath an old-fashioned circus tent canopy he stood in the darkness on the planked walkway between two sets of bleachers set in a half circle in front of the Demon Arts Troupe stage.

  Earlier, out on the hunt, Rook had taken a knight along to case the area for vamps from tribe Zmaj and had found nothing. Word couldn’t have gotten out that the Order had a target on the tribe, so he’d call it a Sunday night lull. He’d left Aaron to check one final nest spot but didn’t expect the new recruit to report any findings.

  Passing the old theater, he recalled this was where Verity had said she performed, so he had purchased a ticket from the box office. The vampire selling the tickets had given him a once-over—before approaching the ticket booth Rook had folded his blade-lined coat over an arm—asked him what he was and had been satisfied with Rook’s mumbled “demon.”

  He hated claiming that title. He wasn’t demon. He was a human man with an extended life thanks to the demon who existed within him. They were two separate entities. He even let Oz out once a month because otherwise the demon would go stir crazy. But only once a month because it took a lot out of Rook to go through the transfer and release of Asatrú. Though separate, they were always connected. And until Rook reclaimed his soul, Oz would always b
e tethered to him, even on the night of the full moon.

  He’d arrived as Verity took the stage. Flames danced at her fingertips, and she performed gymnastics in a skimpy leather costume enmeshed with chainmail. Her hair was braided and up, he figured, to keep it from catching fire. Up and down her arms and legs coiled gold jewelry to draw the eye and catch glints from the flames. The glow of fire across her skin undulated over belly, breasts and shoulders. He’d never thought he could find a woman surrounded by flame sexy.

  And then he began to think about it a little too much. Flames whipping deviously around a beautiful woman. A woman he cared for.

  Rook clutched a hand over his heart and winced. Fire and witches? What was she doing? Did she not fear death?

  Stumbling backward, his shoulders hit the bleacher wall. He slammed back his head and closed his eyes, struggling against the bleak memory. Images of a brutal fire enveloping Marianne exploded into his skull. He could feel the heat of the flame singe his skin. And her screams, oh, those wretched screams that no living being could make unless under extreme torture.

  Memories he’d buried deeply roiled to the surface. He didn’t want them to push through, to be bared to the world. Fire had destroyed the one thing that had meant the most to him. She had been reduced to ash.

  And then he had unburied those ashes and had naïvely requested further torture, until finally he’d had to erase from the earth the abomination he had created.

  But never from his heart. He’d closeted her away so deeply and kept her memory shadowed. He’d been good with that for more than four centuries.

  Why now did the awful memories have to resurface when he was beginning to find an interest in someone new?

  It is the fire.

  Indeed. It had tortured Marianne mercilessly.