by Devlin Chase
“I’m not here to arrest you. I do believe I’ve already told you that.”
“Then what were you doing following me last night?”
The words came out like a hiss and she glanced around the restaurant, in case they’d been overheard. But there was only one other table occupied and, by the doe-eyed look on the couple’s faces it was unlikely they’d heard anything at all.
Darien linked his fingers together as he leaned forward. His voice was equally low as he stared her right in the eyes.
“I was following you because it’s my job.”
“Oh God, you’re Interpol aren’t you?”
“No! It’s nothing like that. I’m…”
“You really are here to arrest me. You just want me to confess first.”
Cat knew her voice was rising but she couldn’t help it. A knot of fear was tightening in her gut as panic took over. “Are you wearing a wire? Are you trying to get me to say something that incriminates me? ‘Cos let me tell you…”
She got no further than that as Darien reached across the table and grabbed her hands in his much larger palms.
Cat recoiled at his touch, realizing an instant later how warm his hands were. His thumb was circling across the inside of her wrist, doing something funny to her pulse and she blinked quickly. No matter how nice it would be to imagine his hands holding hers under different circumstances, she was consumed by only a single thought and that was to get the heck out of there as fast as she could; just like she’d done last night.
But Darien wasn’t about to let her go just yet. After shooting a quick glance at the besotted couple he leaned in close over the table and shook her hands slightly, to get her attention. His voice was low and dangerous, barely more than a growl as he forced her to meet his gaze, his thumb still grazing over her wrist.
“I’m not from Interpol, or any other policing agency. If I were wearing a wire that would be your entrapment clause right there. Okay?” He smiled tightly. “Now, will you calm the fuck down and let me tell you why I’ve been following you?”
Cat went bug-eyed, her jaw dropping as she gaped at him. She wasn’t sure if she was more stunned at the sudden change in his demeanor or the thrill that had raced up her spine as he’d spoken. Wow, that was some serious growl the guy had and it was doing wonders for her libido right about now. Even if she bristled at being spoken down to like that, the guy had one damn sexy voice.
But, as his words finally sank in, she managed to get her jaw back in place and her hands out of his grip, instantly missing the electrifying effect. She looked down at her fingers before curling them in her lap, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, Darien was back on his side of the table, his face stern and unforgiving, as he played with the handle of his mug. His arched brows were pulled together and his lips were a hard line. But he met her gaze, his anger slowly ebbing as they stared at each other.
God, he looked like he wanted to eat her, his gaze hungry and intense.
“Okay, so you’re not a cop,” Cat began slowly.
Darien shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.
“And you’re not here to arrest me for what you saw last night.”
Another shake of his head.
“But you have been following me.”
This time his answer was a quick nod.
“Why?”
The question was asked so calmly that Darien was taken aback for a second. Cat was watching him intently, all her earlier fear and tension having vanished. Despite what he knew about her, there was an innocence in her gaze that called to him. She seemed genuinely interested in knowing the answer and, against his better judgment, Darien felt compelled to tell her nothing but the truth.
He leaned into the table, his eyes flashing.
“I’ve been watching over you. It’s my job to protect you.”
Now it was Cat’s turn to arch her eyebrows and the action made Darien suddenly nervous.
“Protect me? From what?”
Something was off here and he knew it. She was taking this all too calmly. But he’d half stepped off the cliff now, so he might as well go the rest of the way in a full body fall. He steeled himself for her reaction.
“Well, I’m supposed to keep you out of the hands of a bloodthirsty vampire who’s made it clear he’s going to rip your throat out.”
And then it was his turn to gape as her reaction hit him with the full force of a sledgehammer.
Cat started to laugh.
***
She knew it was rude to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. Her anxiety over seeing him walk into the travel agency earlier hadn’t fully left her and she was still tense from having him grab her hands.
So she knew her reaction was more hysterical than genuine but it didn’t seem to be helping to stop the laughter from bubbling up from her throat.
She watched his expression darken, his eyes turning to stone and his lips setting in a hard line, and she willed the giggles to subside. After a few minutes she managed to get them under control, with only a few errant hiccups escaping as she brought her hands up to her eyes to wipe at the single tear that was tracking its way down her cheek.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing at you…”
Another giggle broke loose and she flashed him a look of apology.
But Darien had leaned back into his chair, his arms folded across his chest and his face like granite. He just sat there until she had herself under control, his eyes like ice.
“So, a vampire wants to rip my throat out, huh?” The giggles threatened again and she pushed them back with a swallow, trying to keep a straight face.
To his credit Darien did nothing but nod, never taking his eyes off her face.
“And, er, does this vampire have a name?”
Her mouth was twitching so she clamped her lips shut as she arched her eyebrows again.
“Jacen.”
Well, she just couldn’t help it. The laughter broke through again as Darien scowled at her.
“Jacen, huh? A vampire named Jacen wants to take a chunk out of me and you’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen?”
Darien rolled his eyes.
“There’s no need to get all melodramatic about it…”
“Oh no,” Cat smiled, all innocence and teeth. “I’m not trying to belittle what you’re telling me…”
Darien sighed. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Well, it is a bit of a leap to imagine a vampire wants to kill me.”
Darien just stared at Cat, his face expressionless. “Why is it so difficult to imagine that someone out there wants to do you harm?”
Cat frowned. “Listen, from where I’m sitting the only person who’s following me is you. You’re the one stalking me.”
She was getting agitated, her voice rising again. But she didn’t care. Her laughter was gone now, replaced by a pervading sense of wariness. “You’re the one who’s harassing me, Mr Hawkwood, if that’s even your real name.”
Darien reached a hand out, intending to calm her, but she jerked back, rising quickly from her chair on legs that felt far from steady.
She jabbed a finger toward his face. “Vampires? Wanting to hurt me? You’re not well, you know that?”
Cat reached for her purse, burning to put some distance between herself and this man who, devastatingly handsome though he might be, was a complete stranger.
She stepped around her chair, making sure to keep it between herself and Darien. “You stay away from me, you hear?”
Her heart was fluttering painfully in her chest as she turned her back and strode out of the restaurant, pausing to look over her shoulder.
Darien was still sitting at the table but, as though he were aware of her scrutiny, he turned his head and their eyes locked. Even from this distance Cat could sense the brightness of his gaze.
To Cat’s surprise he looked overwhelmingly tired, as if their conversation had drained him of something more than
just his energy. But she wasn’t about to indulge his fantastic notions because she felt sorry for him, even though she’d sensed he’d meant her no harm.
Turning away, she walked to her car and as she pulled out of the parking lot she could still see him, seated at the table, staring down at his hands.
***
Darien was at a loss, his frustration at her outright refusal to accept what he’d told her warring with his anger at her assumption that he was the one at fault here.
But why would she believe him? If anyone had told him, over three hundred years ago that men would one day fly to the moon and walk about on it, he would have laughed at them too.
But, then again, he hadn’t believed in shape shifters or wraiths either; and who had the joke turned out to be on then?
As he let himself into the Council’s house he slipped out of his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair as he walked through the empty rooms.
The house was silent, save for the sounds coming from the kitchen and he stepped quietly to the doorway, not wanting to alarm the woman who was humming softly while washing dishes.
He leaned against the doorjamb, watching her work, until she became aware of his presence. A smile appeared across her weathered face.
“You’re home early.” Galena bustled forward, wiping her hands on her apron. Petite and rounded, she was the stereotypical image of a grandmother and, as he watched her, Darien smiled back with genuine affection.
Galena had served his family for more years than he could remember; her position as a Wakeling ensuring that she was protected and cared for as long as her service to the Obscura and the vampire families lasted. While they did not live as long, and aged during their lifetime; their tenure with an individual family could last for centuries and, as such, they were considered family. But Galena was family, born of his father’s dalliance with a human female centuries ago.
She’d served his family until only two decades ago, when Darien’s mother had been elected to the Obscura Council. Marguerite Hawkwood had opted to live within the confines of the Council’s mansion and Galena had faithfully chosen to move with her. But, with a liaison needed in South Africa, the matriarch had released the Wakeling to further attend to her son.
As she reached up to pat Darien on the cheek, Galena’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “I take it things didn’t go as you’d hoped.”
Darien scowled. The sound of Catherine’s laughter still rang in his ears and he could feel a hot tongue of anger welling inside.
“I think that’s the understatement of the year.”
He leaned against the doorframe, watching as she prepared dinner. He felt relaxed knowing Galena was here to take care of them. He wondered if Catherine had anyone to do these homely, caring things for her. A frown puckered his brow as he realized that she had no family now except for Frankie; and they didn’t seem to have that kind of sibling relationship. He couldn’t picture her brother cooking supper for her.
He was barely paying attention to what Galena was saying until a dishtowel snapped in front of his face and he refocused, finding her staring up at him, her eyes shrewd.
“So, I assume she’s very pretty if all you can do is stare off into space while your favorite dinner gets cold on the table.”
With a start Darien turned and saw that a full meal had been placed at a single setting on the end of the huge dining room table.
How long had he been standing there, his thoughts on Catherine? The scowl reappeared as he sat at the table, only smoothing when Galena poured him a glass of wine from a decanter on the sideboard and announced that she was retiring to the study to attend to the household accounts.
He’d just pushed his plate away, the meal untouched, when the front door slammed shut and Conrad paced into the dining room. A chair scraped and then creaked as an immense weight threatened its stability.
“You gonna eat that?”
Without waiting for an answer, Conrad snagged the plate and pulled it toward him, the sound of his jaws working the only noise in the room. Darien stared at the candles flickering from the corners of the room, thankful that Conrad wasn’t a big talker.
But that was about the only thing that wasn’t big about Conrad. At six and a half feet he was the tallest of their group, topping Darien by a couple of inches. The massive boots on his feet added another few inches that took him from overwhelming to downright scary huge. With a metabolism that ran so high he had to alternate between eating like a horse and working it all off in the gym, he was like a machine. Dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans, his feet encased in Bronx riding boots, he looked like he’d just come back from an interview to join a biker gang.
That thought triggered the realization that he hadn’t heard Con’s bike pull up.
“Where’s your ride?”
“Aw, it’s too fucking cold now to ride.”
Conrad glanced up, black eyes glittering. The candlelight caught the stud in his right eyebrow and the ring that pierced his lower lip. His hair was trimmed so close to his skull, it added a cruelty to his expression that Darien knew all too well was fully deserved.
“So I took the Porsche for a spin.”
Darien chuckled. Riley had probably hit the fucking roof when he’d seen his car was gone. That one had the Irish in him and he and Conrad had busted up more furniture brawling over who’d taken what from whom over the years that Darien wondered why they were still such good friends.
But that was the nature of their group, wasn’t it? The thing’s they had done together over the past decades, all for the Obscura and the so-called protection of their nation, had bonded them in a way that was more profound a tie than blood.
They were smoking in companionable silence, Conrad glancing his way every now and again, when the door slammed and the others walked in.
“Give me the keys, fuckhead.”
The snarl reached Darien an instant before Conrad was thrown from his chair, crashing into the sideboard and bringing down a heavily framed painting.
Riley loomed over Conrad, fangs bared as a hiss filled the air. Angelo had him in an arm lock that kept Conrad out of reach of his grabbing hands. Angelo growled as he dragged Riley back and away from Conrad, who was sprawled on the carpet but already reaching into his pocket, a grin spreading across his face. He pulled out the keys and tossed them to Riley, who caught them with one hand as Angelo released him.
Relief flooded Riley’s face as he stared down at the keys then he reached out a hand to Conrad, offering to pull him up. As soon the larger man’s hand was in his he used his free hand to pound his fist into Conrad’s face. He might not have Conrad’s sheer muscular size, but the fist that was slamming into Conrad’s cheek was backed by a deceptively lethal strength.
“You steal my car again and I’ll rip your fucking head off myself!”
Before Conrad could retaliate, an earsplitting whistle rang out and they all pivoted to see Galena standing in the doorway, backlit by the light from the kitchen. She looked small, but the determination in her stance cowed them all.
“For the love of Christ! Always you two and the damn furniture!”
She marched into the room, still wearing her apron, and came to stand in front of Conrad and Riley who, despite their size, seemed quite terrified of the tiny Wakeling.
One finger pointed at Riley. “You. Stop beating him up.”
Another finger jabbed at Conrad. “You stop stealing his car.”
Both fists went to her hips as she glared at them. “Or I’ll knock both your heads together. You hear me?”
“Yes ma’am,” Riley mumbled, staring down at his feet.
Galena cocked her head in Conrad’s direction.
“Yes ma’am.”
Satisfied, Galena turned and headed toward the door. “Dinner will be on the table in five, so get yourselves cleaned up.”
Darien stubbed out his cigarette, his smile fading as a lazy drawl reached him from the doorway and the clack of stilettos approac
hed from the tiled hallway. Damn. They were all here.
“For a Wakeling, she sure is a spitfire.”
Brent was in his customary ragged jeans and t-shirt although Darien had to acknowledge that he pulled the look off; possessing the tall, ripped look that could turn almost any woman’s head. The blond hair, golden tan and gleaming teeth were picture perfect all-American wave worshiper.
Which was exactly what the American had devoted at least the past decade to, until the thrill of only riding the waves at night had finally worn off. The artfully shabby look still lingered, however.
The clicking heels traveled the length of the table and, glancing at her, Darien groaned inwardly.
Marabella was wearing what could only be described as a second skin. The black lycra catsuit covered every inch of her body as if it had been poured on; only her head and hands visible. A broad silver belt, low on her hips, was her only concession to modesty although it was clear she wasn’t wearing any panties or a bra. Not that she would need to; her body was perfect and she knew it. Tonight her platinum hair was streaked through with lengths of black and her long fingernails were as dark as the night.
She slid down onto the farthest chair, lifting one slender leg and hooking the arch of her foot gracefully on the corner of the table. The knee-high stiletto boots were black suede and she ran one hand over the leather as she admired them.
“So, did you speak to her?”
Angelo was picking up the painting, leaning it against the wall as he spoke. His voice was as smooth as velvet and, as he turned, Darien was struck by how empty his eyes were. Humans would never notice that about Angelo though; seeing only perfection in his body and face. It was no real surprise that he’d spent the last few years working as a model. His blond hair and perfect features screamed masculine beauty and he could turn on the charm like a professional when it suited him. His preference for black leather had set him apart; but it was the formidable tribal tattoos across his shoulders and arms that had cemented his new career, making him one of the most sought after models for the covers of urban romance and dark fantasy novels, an irony he found incredibly amusing.
