Aimee shook the glass from her body, glancing around until she spotted Lilith.
Oh, gods. Oh, gods. Lilith turned and darted up the rest of the steps. With the key in hand, she got the door unlocked on the first try and pushed into the house as Aimee's claws clicked and scratched up the porch steps. Lilith slammed the door, locking it.
Aimee hit the other side with enough force to make her jump.
Oh, gods. Okay. I'm okay. Clasping a hand to her chest, she gasped for breath.
Now what? She was stuck. This old place wouldn't have food or water. No heat. She'd left her clothes and the few supplies she'd retrieved from storage outside in the car. Dear gods, she didn't even know if the house remained secure after all this time.
Shuffling and panting noises came through the door. Nails scraped along the seam. The handle jiggled. Aimee wanted in.
Lilith wandered around the foyer, her ears still ringing from taking the airbag in the face, peeking into the darkened rooms to either side. White sheets covered the furniture and boards blocked the windows.
The kitchen lay to the right of the foyer, the living room to the left. The old home didn’t have any hallways on the ground floor, each room leading into the next through archways. If she walked through the living room, she’d end up in a study, which led to a family room, which led to a dining room, which led right back to the kitchen on her right. The sole door leading to the ritual room sat across from the front door, dead center in the house, under the sprawling split staircase. Once upon a time, that’s where she’d received lessons in Magic with the rest of the Grigori coven
Back when she'd been a witch. Long ago when she’d possessed Magic.
Just as she reached for the door handle, the pipes shuddered in the walls and the buzzing in her head stopped. Not buzzing, running water. Slowly, she lifted her gaze above her, as if she could see through plaster and walls to whoever hid in the bathroom upstairs.
The future lies in the past.
Either she turned tail and fled right back to the very angry, very corporal entity waiting outside or she faced whatever might be upstairs.
“Choices, choices.”
Gods, she missed her Magic.
Lilith backed away from the staircase, and reached for her purse. In lieu of Magic, a weapon would have suffused, but she didn't have one of those, either. She improvised, grabbing her keys. Her attention returned to the split staircase. If she remembered right, several steps on the left staircase creaked. She headed for the steps to her right. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she inched up the stairs, fisting her key chain and adjusting the keys to poke through her fingers, the way her self-defense instructor had taught her.
She'd have been better off returning to the airport instead of coming here.
You're always overreaching. Always looking for more than you have. More than you deserve. Nan's words echoed in her mind. Muffled noises came from the bathroom at the end of the hall.
On the second floor, she stopped on the landing overlooking the foyer and contemplated the dark hallway before her. There were three bedrooms and a bath up here. Thin lines of light bordered the closed bathroom door at the end of the hall. She gripped the keys tighter and headed down the hall, glancing into the first doorway on her right, the punishment room. Darkness obstructed the details of the space, but that didn't stop the memories from flooding back. For a heartbeat she swayed, shaken.
The scent of blood and sweat filled the air and her skin blazed as if flames licked her flesh instead of the barbed tails of Nan's whip. Her arms ached from holding her weight, but her feet refused to stay under her.
Lilith shook her head and pushed away the memory. She started forward again, after taking a deep breath. She gave the darkened room a wide berth, pausing only briefly to peek into the two bedrooms on her left as she passed. Both appeared uninhabited. Ahead, a shadow moved under the bathroom door.
It's a squatter. A human being. Just take down whoever it is and ask questions later.
She reached the end of the hall and lifted her hand to twist the doorknob. The door swung open. Fear overrode everything else for a heartbeat. A big shape came toward her, blocking out the lights in the bathroom. She cocked her arm back and launched herself at the trespasser.
“Oh, hell no.” His deep voice vibrated through her even as he knocked the keys from her hand and spun her around. “Will you—”
Eyes. Nose. Throat. Groin. Knees. She threw a punch, aiming for his throat.
He blocked her, palming her fist and re-directing her momentum away from him. The move forced her to step forward. Left her vulnerable to attack.
“Who the hell—”
She caught her balance and rammed her elbow back into his gut. Except his stomach seemed to be made of steel and her whole arm went numb, as if she'd slammed her funny bone onto a table top.
He grabbed her arm and swung her around.
Lilith turned within his grasp and kicked his knee out from under him.
“Shit!” He tried to brace his weight against her to catch his balance, but she hadn't gotten both feet under her yet.
She fell flat on her back and he came down on top of her. She shoved against him, gasping, and punched him in the face even as she brought her knee up.
He blocked her with his thigh, moving his weight higher up her body to straddle her hips. “Hey.” He gathered both her hands into one of his and held them to the floor over her head.
She tried to buck him off. Oh gods, he's going to beat the shit out of me.
“Damn it, stop.” He lifted her a little, shook her. “I'm not going to hurt you. You attacked me.” He shook her again. “Why?”
Finally, her brain kicked back into gear. He hadn't hurt her, not really. Restrained her, yes, but as big as he was he could've incapacitated her in seconds had he wanted to. She couldn't see much, her hair blocked her view and he sprawled over her, holding himself at arm’s length, leaving nothing above his six-pack visible. His legs straddled hers, his jeans stretched tight over thick thighs. Right above where their bodies met, her attention zeroed in on his belly button. He had an outie. A man with an outie couldn't be all that bad.
“Let me up.”
“Are you gonna stop?” His voice sounded abnormally deep, as if he'd injured his throat at some point. “Can I get your hair out of your face now, so I can see who the hell you are?”
She nodded. She didn't have much of a choice with his weight pinning her down.
“I'm gonna let your hands go, but I'm warning you, lady . . . you hit me again and I'll hit back. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
He released her wrists and his weight shifted as he pushed the hair from her face.
Eyes, black as obsidian stared back at her, and gods help her, he had a rugged, intimidating aura even if he hadn't been lying on top of her. He looked mean as hell. His straight, broad nose, angled cheeks and strong jaw line could've been chiseled in stone. He didn't have any hair, both his jaw and head were shaved clean.
He shifted slightly and the light from the bathroom caught on the silver pendant he wore. A small dragon's eye in the center of a larger sideways eight. A fresh burst of adrenaline pumped through her. The dragon's eye, a triangle with an upside down Y in the center, symbolized danger. The sideways eight represented infinity. Together, they translated to infinite danger.
Last time she’d laid eyes on that symbol was when she’d summoned her mate to rescue her from Nan. Her mate.
Chapter 4
The future lies in the past. She searched his face, her gaze zeroing in on two thin scars below his left eye. Holy shit. “You.” She lifted her hand to touch the whip marks.
“Lilith Caldwell?” Those dark eyes widened.
She nodded, surprised he remembered, that he recognized her. She certainly didn't look the same after twenty years. But he did. Disturbingly so.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Presently, I'm getting crushed into the har
dwoods.”
“Sorry.”
His deep baritone vibrated through her, making her all the more aware of his weight. Of the places where his body pressed tight to hers and the fact that he'd grown aroused. Her gaze dropped from his as heat suffused her cheeks. “I, uh . . . maybe—”
“Yeah.” He grimaced and pushed away from her. When he stood, he gave her his back and her breath caught at the sight of two barely healed wounds above his shoulder blades.
Great, so she'd attacked a wounded man who was her mate and also happened to have saved her life. Way to go, Lil. “Look, I'm sorry. Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
And as surly as ever. As a child she'd been very impressed with him for saving her from Nan, but then he’d disappeared into the night, breaking her heart. A wistful smile tugged at her lips. At ten years old, she'd fully expected her hero to come equipped with a white stallion and willing to carry her off into the sunrise to marry her. Little girls had funny dreams.
But here he stood.
She got to her feet, still breathing hard, still shaking from the adrenaline rush. How was this possible? After all these years, her mate looked as hard and strong as she remembered. It had to be a trick of the lighting. “Did you—” She wet her lips, and sucked in a steadying breath. “Did you send me the note?”
“What note?” He strode down the hall, not even sparing her a once over.
She followed. “The one telling me to come home.”
“Seriously?” He headed into the punishment room and flipped on the light. “You think of this place as home?”
Okay, so he hadn't called for her. And she hadn't summoned him. So why was he here?
She hesitated at the threshold, but the room looked nothing like the chamber she remembered from childhood. The windows had been boarded over and he'd made the space his own. He had a bookshelf and dresser pushed up against one wall and a bed against another. A sleepy, orange-striped feline lifted his head from the mussed sheets.
Lilith stepped into the room.
Her mate whirled on her. “What are you doing?”
“There's no sense in shouting from the hallway.”
He motioned around the room. “My room isn't that big.”
She shrugged, walked to the bed and picked up the cat. “He yours?”
“No.” He dragged his hand over his head and braced his hands on his hips. “I don't know where George lives, but he hangs out here on occasion. What are—?”
“George?”
“As in the mad king. The damned feline acts crazy as hell most days.”
She pulled her gaze from the lump of fur purring in her arms and her mouth went dry. Her mate's jeans rode low on his hips, showing off the muscular V dipping down below his waistband. Her gaze stroked over the ridges and planes of his abs, chest, and shoulders. Gods help her, he had an amazing build. Too bad he didn't seem half as interested in her as she was of him.
Parts of her body, too long ignored, tingled to life. Scars crisscrossed his chest, marked his shoulders, his neck. Her gaze caught on one, an oval of webbed tissue at the base of his throat and her heated blood turned to ice in her veins.
Gods help them both. He was a daemon.
Not all were terrible. Daemons descended, through biology or Magic, from the Watchers—the two hundred fallen angels. Even as she stared at the webbed oval scar at the base of his throat, she denied what she knew him to be: Vampire. She couldn't possibly be mated to a vampire. They fed off blood and they all had special . . . talents. Abilities handed down to them from the Watcher whose blood they carried. And yet, she didn't fear him. She feared for him. His being here put him in danger, more so than he had any way of knowing.
Lilith dragged in a deep breath. “I suppose you'll be leaving now.”
Slowly, he shook his head.
She wet her lips. “You can't think . . . .” She paused as her voice cracked, and started over. “You can't think to stay here.”
“Why not?”
He pinned her with those black eyes and her mind went blank. “What?”
“Why. Not.”
She huffed. Contrary male. The amusement lighting his eyes irritated her. She squared her shoulders and tipped up her chin. “I know what you are.” Even as the words left her mouth, a pit seemed to open in her belly.
He dropped his gaze and backed up a step.
That hadn't been fair. As a witch, she knew the power of words. They could create or destroy and hers had done the latter. Damn it. Whatever his race, he’d also saved her life and he was her mate. Karma would bite her in the ass if she repaid him with cruelty. She cleared her throat, hoping he didn't catch the slight strain in her voice. “You were my hero.”
His gaze shot back to hers, but his eyes narrowed as if he didn't trust her sincerity. By the look of him, she doubted he trusted anyone. He seemed . . . feral.
She stomped down the urge she had to hug him. He might be her mate, but she couldn't keep him. If she wanted him to continue to breathe, she had to send him away. “I am truly grateful to you, but you can't stay here.”
When the coven found out she'd come back, they'd come looking for her. And if they discovered him, they'd destroy him.
Nan had been right after all.
Life-mates were not for witches.
Not even Magic-less witches.
***
She still smelled of lavender.
Lilith. She was still irrational and unpredictable, two qualities he didn't find appealing. And she still didn't fear him. Something had scared her, probably whatever made her bleed, but it sure as hell wasn't him.
She seemed unaware of her wounds—the knot forming on her forehead and the blood blooming on her sweater at both shoulders. Part of him wanted to ask what happened, but the last thing he needed was an entanglement with a human. Especially this one. He was already too interested in her.
She’d grown tall and slender, with just enough curve to her lithe body to turn a man's head. Dark hair framed her delicate features. Those big, soulful brown eyes held him captive, though—always those eyes. Her pink sweater enhanced their chocolaty color, and brought out the rich hue of her cheeks and lips. Her denim jeans fit like a second skin and those boots . . . . Man, he'd love to see this woman in nothing but those leather boots.
Focus.
The way she'd stared at him a moment ago gave him a partial hard on all over again and he needed to get rid of her before he did something about it. Christ, what was he thinking? He couldn't touch her. He was far too old for her and a vampire to boot—the worst sort of daemon. She, on the other hand, looked like a goddamn angel. A young one.
Like the old woman said, being with her would be an abomination. He'd never redeem himself in God's eyes if he soiled her with his hands. And that's what he wanted—redemption and an end to his endless existence.
So, focus. Get her out of here. He turned away and retrieved a gray t-shirt. “Where'd you learn to fight?”
“I took classes.”
“You paid someone to teach you that?” He waved his hand to where they'd grappled in the hallway.
She propped one hand on her hip. “I dropped you.”
“Luck.” He snorted, jerking the shirt over his head. “I wasn't trying to hurt you. If I had, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”
She blinked, clearly not intimidated. “Well, then, I thank you for not wanting to kill me or whatever you're insinuating.” Her toe tapped against the hardwoods. “Regardless, we can't live here together.”
“Exactly.” Where the hell were his boots? “You remember where the door is?”
She gasped. “This is my house.”
He paused. “You bought this place?”
“Well, no.” Finally, her gaze slid away. “Not exactly. I inherited it.”
He harrumphed. He spied his boots, grabbed them and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, well, living here can't be good for you.” He shoved his boot on.
“But what?
It's good for you living in this mess?”
He jerked his other boot on. “I don't have time to play Suzie-homemaker and I don't like guests.”
She made a noise suspiciously like a snort. He turned to glare and she stared back with those big, innocent eyes. “Well, you'll probably be feeling crowded pretty soon.”
“Oh? Me, alone, in all this space. I doubt it.”
“Trina will be joining me.”
He froze. That name should mean something. . . . “The little Latina upstart who got you into that mess with the old woman?”
Her jaw dropped. “It wasn't her fault.”
“That's not what she said.”
“She was nine,” she sputtered. She set George down on the bed and folded her arms over her chest. “It wasn't her fault.”
Whatever. As he tied his boots, his nape tingled. She must be scowling daggers at his back.
She sighed. “Why are you here, anyway?”
That was a damned good question. One he couldn't answer. He glanced around the room as if his surroundings might provide an answer. He'd set up this place as a bolt-hole years ago, but rarely used it. And while he remembered crashing here due to an injury a day or two ago, he didn't remember any of that time. When she'd attacked him out in the hall, he'd felt like he'd just woken from a nightmare. Hell, it didn't make any sense. Someone must be fucking with him.
He stood, facing her and found the sight of her almost painful. She was beautiful, vibrant, alive. And him, hell, he was so fucking ancient, he couldn't even recall his exact age. He felt like dust in human form. Get out of here. She'll be gone by the time you get back.
He grabbed his keys and backpack, and strode out of the room. George raced past and flew down the stairs, ready for a night of prowling.
James paused at the top of the stairs and turned to her. “Look, I gotta go to work. Leave my stuff alone. If you want to take a shower and clean off the blood—”
She jerked to attention, looking at her sweater where he'd pointed.
“—go ahead, but I expect you to be gone when I get back.”
He descended the stairs at a quick clip.
The Beacon (The Original's Trilogy Book 1) Page 3
