Ellie shoved her palms into his chest, attempting to ward him off. “Help you? No, that wasn’t the agreement.”
If he couldn’t intimidate her, he’d find another way to gain her assistance. Devon turned and followed the narrow path that led toward the manor, his ancestral home. The wound in his thigh was aching something fierce and with each step it felt like a hot poker was stabbing into his leg. The bone had probably been broken in his last battle with the underworld creatures and had mended improperly. It would heal, but slowly and painfully.
He gritted his teeth and continued on, crushed gravel biting into his bare feet as he found the path and focused on that glowing light in the downstairs window. Dare he try to teletransport? No. Too risky. He needed to stretch his injured leg, besides, his powers were growing weak. He could feel the energy draining from him with every step. He needed to reserve whatever he had left.
His body might be growing weak, but his instincts were not. Devon was completely and utterly aware of everything that was going on around him. Overhead an owl called softly. Twenty feet to the right, a cat chased a mouse in the underbrush. And behind him, the woman followed, her breath a soft temptation he swore he could feel on his neck even though she was a good meter behind.
“Where are you going?” she asked, catching up to him.
“Home.”
Her footsteps slowed. “Really?” She paused. “Oh, well, okay then. So nice to meet you!”
Surprised by her overly cheerful reply, he turned to look back at her. Was she actually serious? Had she not heard a word he’d said?
Her smile fell. “You’re not leaving the grounds, are you?”
“No.” He started toward the back of the manor. The kitchen had been added on right before he’d died. He could almost see the cook rolling out dough as she called to the maids. She’d made a special biscuit he’d always loved, just for him. How she’d adored spoiling the master of the house. A woman who was more like his mother than servant. His throat felt suddenly thick. She was gone now. Dead, like the rest of them. As he should be.
Hurried footsteps followed after him. “Where are you going?”
Devon didn’t even pause. “The house.” Why was it he could remember the housekeeper, but could barely remember anything else? Ashley, he remembered Ashley. Her smile, her hazel eyes, her concern for him.
“Oh God, no! You can’t go into the house!”
“Yes.” He hobbled toward the massive building that loomed dark against the night sky. The closer he got, the less he felt. He should have been relieved to be home, instead he felt nothing. Numb. And it hit him why… This wasn’t his home, not any longer. He’d been gone for over a hundred years. But maybe, just maybe, someone would still be here who could explain what had happened.
He felt a chill right before Ellie latched onto his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Please, please you can’t. I’ll be fired!”
He glowered down at the woman practically hopping beside him. “Fired from what?”
“My job! I give tours here, hence the outfit. But without my job, I’ll have to return home. I really, really can’t go back.”
She was starting to annoy him, like some persistent gnat that couldn’t be brushed away. “Why?”
“Because… because I need the job.” She sighed, tucking back a lock of brown hair. “It was pure luck they let me come over here, considering…” She sighed. “I’ve had some issues in the past.”
“Shocking,” he said sarcastically.
Her face grew hard. “Never mind.”
She talked in riddles he couldn’t quite understand, but then Ashley had as well.
Ashley.
Dear God, where was she? She’d been the one bright memory during his hellish nightmare. The sooner he found her, the better. A pub. He could just barely remember being in a dusty room that looked like a pub.
“Insane,” Ellie muttered, throwing her hands in the air as if giving up. “Completely insane.”
He reached for the back door. She shoved her way in front of him, her breasts brushing across his arm. Awareness shot through his body, thundering passion like he’d never known. Startled, he actually stepped back. His mouth went dry as blood surged to his cock. It had been so long since he’d touched anyone, since he’d kissed, caressed a soft female. So long since he’d forgotten his worries between the thighs of a woman.
“I can’t let you into the house.”
Bemused, he frowned. “What?”
“Inside! You are not going inside that house! You’ve seen what I can do.” She lifted her chin in what he assumed was supposed to be a look of confidence. It didn’t work, for he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”
He bit back his laughter. “Yes, I have seen what you can do, and you still insist you’re human?”
She frowned. He took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her waist and push her aside. He should have known better. She spun around, hooking her leg around his. The pressure on his injured thigh was too much. Caught off guard, he stumbled off the stoop, falling to his arse. His back hit the unforgiving lawn with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs. For one long moment, he merely lay there, staring up at the dark clouds on an even darker sky, too damn tired to do anything more.
“What the hell am I doing here?” he whispered to the heavens.
His fingers curled into the damp grass, deeper, into the rich soil. Emotion welled within. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. Home. He’d come home. The hell he’d been in for what seemed like eternity was gone. But he knew it was there, lurking in the background, waiting for his return. How had he escaped? Why?
There was the soft scraping of a window being thrown wide.
“Shoot!” Ellie snapped.
Suddenly, she threw herself atop him. “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”
Devon didn’t have time to prepare. Her lush body pressed into his, putting pressure on his injured rib. He barely noticed the pain. She shifted, her soft breasts flattening to his chest as she looked toward the estate. Loose tendrils fell around his face, tickling his neck. Blood rushed to his cock. Desire reared its ugly head. Mocking his saintly nature. Devon closed his eyes, his hands curling into her hips to keep her from moving. Blimey, how he wanted more. Wanted to turn her over and lift her skirts. To delve into her warmth and forget for a moment the hell he’d been through.
“Your white t-shirt is like a beacon of light,” she whispered, as if annoyed with him when she was the one who had given him the shirt. “Damn housekeeper,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes as she focused on the window. “Go to bed already!”
He was barely aware of the housekeeper. Didn’t give a shite. All he cared about was her. This lush woman atop him. It had been so long since he’d touched anyone without fighting. Smelled the sweet scent of a woman. Known only a soft, gentle touch. If he pressed his mouth to hers, would she slap him, or welcome his kiss?
Devon didn’t dare move for fear the dream would end. He lay there, merely lay there soaking in her essence. She shifted again, her thighs brushing his, her breath quick and warm across the side of his face, just as it would be if they made love.
He closed his eyes. He would sell his soul at the moment, for a kind touch. His thoughts went unwillingly to Ashley, yet even as he thought of the woman, Cristian came to mind. Cristian, a man who had been his best friend and mortal enemy. A memory of Ashley and Cristian embracing flared to life.
She’d chosen him, whispered through his mind. Ashley had fallen for Cristian.
Damn it all, why couldn’t he remember more?
But this woman wasn’t Ashley. Ashley was lean and dark; a mystery most of the time. This woman was lush, her face showing her every emotion. And she smelled different. She smelled like… like lilacs in summer. Like hope. Damn it all, he’d wanted her from the moment they’d met.
“She’s gone.” She turned her head and must have only just realized the impropriety of their situation. Even
though it was dark, he swore he could see her blush. “Sorry, but you can’t go in there.”
Annoyed, Devon flipped her over, covering her body with his. Her eyes grew wide with shock, her delicate hands pressed to his chest, as if to ward him off. She might have powers, but she didn’t seem to be a trained fighter at the moment. “No one tells me I can’t go into my own home.”
She pounded her fists against his shoulders. “It’s not your home.”
The words sank into his gut, tore at his insides. She was right.
Slowly, he turned his head, searching the building that loomed beside them. It looked the same. Perhaps the gardens were different, the trees larger, the flower beds changed. But he knew it wasn’t his home. He could see the telephone lines, hear the rumble of cars in the distance. Those same noises he’d heard at that pub with Ashley. How they had annoyed him. But when? How long ago had he been at that pub?
And they bothered him now—the noises— here, in this place he used to live where there was no longer any true silence. He might have stayed the same, but his family and even his ancestral home, had changed.
Devon rolled off her, sitting in the grass and staring up at the place where he’d been born. Where he’d played as a child. Where he’d lost his parents… his wife. “Who owns the home?” Blast it, if his voice didn’t catch.
“Lord Templeton. He bought the place about ten years ago. To help pay bills, he does garden tours during the day and ghost tours at night.”
Devon stiffened and jerked his gaze toward her. Was she jesting? “Ghost tours?”
She shifted, looking uncomfortable. She’d seen that ghost in her cottage, he knew for a fact. Would she try to deny it now? “You point out ghosts to humans looking for a thrill?”
She tucked her feet underneath her and stood. “No. We tell them… about… supposed hauntings.” She glanced back at her cottage, nestled there near the woods. That cottage that hadn’t been there when he’d lived in the manor.
She shrugged, but still looked uneasy. “Lord Templeton doesn’t exactly care for the tours, but since he makes so much money off of them…”
Devon looked toward the manor. He knew no Lord Templeton.
They had sold his ancestral home. Sold it to a stranger. He felt sick. He’d rather be in hell then facing this. It shouldn’t have mattered, this material object, but for some reason it did. It was all he had left, after all. But no, that wasn’t true. If he could find his sword he’d have something. He’d feel whole again. He’d have a purpose.
“Are you all right?”
Of course he wasn’t all right. In the last one hundred years, he’d died, become a ghost, been brought back to life, only to die again. And hell, here he was, once more. His life, and death, were becoming rather redundant. He drew his knees to his chest and hung his head low.
How the hell had he gotten here? Why? So many confusing emotions and memories swirled through his body. But there was no one to answer him. “What’s the date?”
“April 9th.”
“Year,” he snapped.
She paused, obviously finding his question odd. “2012.”
Six months, whispered through his mind.
Could it be true? Had he only been in that hell for six months? It felt like years. Only six months. He felt ancient. An old man, beaten and bloodied, ready for the end.
The woman knelt beside him, her hand reaching out, only to fall to her side as if she thought better of comforting him. “Listen, you need to leave before Lord Templeton sees you and calls the police.”
Her words hit him, gave him the strength he needed. “I can’t. I can’t leave until I find something.” He jumped to his feet, swaying. He’d stood too soon. Blimey, he needed rest. At the least, food. Determined, he moved toward the door. “Now, are you going to help me find it, or shall I merely bang upon the door until your Lord Templeton answers?”
“You’re insane if you think I’ll let you enter that home!”
Devon stepped onto the back stoop and wrapped his fingers around the porcelain door handle. He could hear her quick steps as she raced after him. She was too late. He turned the handle and pulled. The door gave a little, but held tight by a bolt. Easy enough to take care of. Taking in a deep breath, he focused what little remaining energy he had left. The lock broke with a clank and the door swung wide.
Ellie gasped from behind him. “How’d you do that?”
He ignored her and stepped into the kitchen. Shadows hid the large room, but he could make out cabinets along the far wall. A refrigerator hummed softly in the corner. In the middle was a large table. The wooden floorboards were smooth under his bare feet. So different, yet something shifted inside of him, memories kept at bay. He could picture himself there, in the middle of the room, stealing biscuits from the Cook.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It smelled the same. The lemon scent was overwhelming, but underneath…deep down under the layers of time… the familiar scent of his home remained.
Over one hundred years ago, this had been his kitchen. He had been master of this house. But everything was different now. His home no longer.
Sweat of desperation peppered his forehead. It wasn’t his home any longer, but that didn’t matter. He was leaving as soon as he found his damn sword. A biscuit jar in the middle of the table caught his attention. His stomach clenched. He reached it in two strides and lifted the lid. Shortbread. His stomach grumbled loudly. He grabbed a handful of cookies and shoved them in his mouth.
“You can’t be in here! I’ll call the police, I swear it!” Ellie’s feet whispered over the floor, her breath harsh in the quiet.
“So call,” he mumbled over a mouth of biscuits. He had no time for her nonsense. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, attempting to sense the sword, search for that low hum of vibration he had always felt when the weapon was near. He needed that sword. He was nothing without it.
Her warm hand clasped his bicep. “Please, can’t we just leave? Talk rationally?”
He swallowed and with a trembling hand, grabbed another handful of cookies. “Fine.” He shook off her hold. Her touch was too personal, too addictive. “If you tell me what you are, I’ll leave.” He was calling her bluff.
“I don’t know!”
He pushed by her and started toward the door that should lead into the hall.
“I’m calling the police,” she whispered.
He knew she wasn’t serious. Ellie had secrets of her own, secrets she wanted to keep hidden. As he stepped into the foyer, thoughts of the woman faded. His heart hammered wildly, his throat going dry.
Home. How many times had he run up those wide steps as a child? He’d carried his wife up that staircase when they’d married. Emotion welled within and he had to lean against the wall, his knees suddenly weak. The cookies in his fist tumbled to the ground. Being home was far more difficult than he’d ever imagined.
“Hey, seriously,” she whispered. “I’ll…” She paused, and even in the dark he could feel her astute gaze searching his face. “Are you all right?”
Warrior or not, the woman was much too soft for her own good. A creak sounded from above. They froze, jerking their attention toward the staircase.
“Someone’s coming,” Ellie whispered.
Footsteps thumped, making the ceiling tremble. Desperate, Devon reached for the closest door, pulled it wide, and shoved Ellie inside. A small linen closet, stuffed with coats and smelling of old man and moth balls. It would have to do. He moved into the alcove, forcing Ellie back with his body, and closed the door. Big mistake. Secluded inside the small area with her so close, he could barely think.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, shoving her hands between them, a pathetic barrier.
“Quiet, or I’ll tell him you wanted to take me in the linen closet.”
Her hands fisted against his chest. “Are you kidding?”
“I’ll tell him you wanted to seduce me.”
She gritted her teeth. He could a
ctually hear the grinding sound. “He won’t believe you.”
Footsteps thudded down the steps. “I bet he will.”
“Damn you!”
“Shhh.” He pressed her up against the wall, holding her in place with his body, and slapped his hand over her lush lips. “Cease your prattle.”
He felt her mouth move, then the hard nip of her teeth, so hard his skin tore. Devon hissed, and jerked his hand away. The little minx. Anger mixed with shock and her fury only added to his emotions.
“Don’t you dare tell me what—”
Devon gripped her shoulders, jerked her forward and crushed his mouth to hers. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he wanted to taste a woman. Touch another human. Perhaps he merely wanted to shut her up. It wasn’t the best kiss, for his lips were merely pressed to hers like a youth in his first throws of passion. But it didn’t matter, his starved soul drank her in.
Ellie growled something low in her throat, no doubt a threat, but he wasn’t one to give up easily. Not now, not when he could feel something other than pain again. Devon wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her up against his body. Boldly, he slid his tongue over that plump lower lip. Check mate. Her body melted into his, fitting perfectly to his form.
Unable to stop himself, he slid his hands up her back, pressing her so close he could feel the rapid beat of her heart. He wanted more. Like a man starved, he couldn’t hold back. He thrust his tongue into her warmth. Lord, she tasted lovely. So clean, so sweet, so innocent and pure.
Growling low in his throat, Devon shoved his knee between her thighs, spreading her legs as much as her skirts would allow. Any humanity within him was gone. The urge to take her, to lose himself completely within her, overwhelmed him. He pressed his pelvis to hers, his hard erection throbbing against the odd trousers she’d given him. Her fingers tightened in the hair at his nape, pulling him closer, urging him forward as her tongue met his thrust for thrust. God help her, she wanted him as well.
“Oh Danny Boy,” the murmured song whispered through their lust-filled cocoon, shattering any sense of intimacy.
Coming to his senses, Devon tore his mouth from hers.
The Demon Hunter (The Hunter Series) Page 4
