Conall’s eyes snapped open as his ears caught the vibrations of a phone. Sliding from the bed so as not to disturb Vivienne, who’d been asleep for the past hours, he followed the sound. At first he thought that it was his phone, that Sloan or Raoul were calling to report that one of the younger pups in his pack had done something in a drunken state to put them at risk, but it wasn’t.
He located the black Motorola phone in the carelessly tossed bag in the living room. Picking it up, he stared at the name.
Max.
Conall’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the time above the name. It was after two in the morning. Why was Max calling Vivienne? Why was another man calling his mate?
Teeth bared, he flipped the phone open, placed it to his ears and waited.
“Vivienne?” Conall recognized that voice immediately, and a snarl left his lips. It was the human he’d vowed to kill, the one who’d ripped her away from him that night at Fangs.
“Who is this?” The man’s voice had grown cold. “Where is she?”
Max could not be Vivienne’s lover, as not only had she come to him untouched, but she hadn’t had another man’s scent on her body. On the other hand, he certainly wasn’t her brother. Still, he sounded concerned, and although Conall would make him sorry for pulling Vivienne away from him if ever their paths crossed again, he calmed slightly.
“Safe,” was the terse reply, emitted from between clenched teeth.
“Who are you?”
“She’s safe.” With that, Conall ended the call. So his name was Max.
He tossed her phone back into her bag and headed back to the bedroom. She was now curled where he’d been, as if she’d tried to find him and had settled for where his warmth was. Her hair was a wild mass about her head, her arm secured the comforter right above her belly. He smiled and headed over to the edge of the bed. Reaching a hand down, he cupped her soft cheek and rubbed his thumb along the slant of her jaw. She murmured something that sounded suspiciously like his name, and he smiled.
He was about to pull the covers back and get into bed beside her when he felt a distinct shift in the air. It was slight and to someone not as experienced as him, it would be dismissed. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he closed his eyes and waited. It came again, a slight pulsation of warm energy. He bared his teeth.
Witch.
And he wasn’t the target. The energy was searching for Vivienne, had traced her to this hotel room. Conall reached down and pulled her against him, shielding her essence with his. He felt the energy ebb gradually, and looked down into Vivienne’s sleeping face.
Why was she important to a witch? She snuggled closer to him and the covers fell to her waist, revealing her breasts. Beast and man stirred but both were insistent on getting her to safe ground first.
Conall flashed clothes onto both of them and easily lifted the sleeping woman into his arms. Flashing was a skill most of his kind did not possess, but he was a Celt, and the Celts had always been linked to magic. He flashed them down to the parking lot, where his Roadster was. Placing her into the front seat, he scented the air for any danger before punching in the code to unlock the car without the keys. Methodically, he popped the trunk, and opened the lone black briefcase inside, removing the black Berretta and Glock that lay casually inside. His eyes scanned the underground parking garage as he shoved both guns into his waistband. He was taking no chances, not with her. Bullets wouldn’t kill immortals, especially not lead bullets, but it would slow them down. A bullet to the head slowed everything down.
Conall swiftly moved around to the driver’s seat, and punched in another code that would start the car absent key. He sped through the mostly empty lanes of New York City, his eyes watching and scanning the road. Through it all, Vivienne slept on.
***
Charles Bordeaux shifted and reached out an arm to his wife.
It came in contact with rumpled sheets and a tossed pillow, and he reached out once more, a soft grunt escaping his lips as he unconsciously searched for her. He came awake and sat up.
“Evelyn,” he called softly, wearily. When there was no response, he turned on the dim lamp beside the bed, and squinted. Where was she? The digital clock told him it was two-thirty.
She’d probably gone to the bathroom or to the kitchen. Yawning, Charles pushed the duvet from his body and slipped his feet into comfortable bedroom slippers. He groaned as he pushed his body from the bed, reaching out a hand to his back. At fifty-two, he was beginning to experience the little aches and pains that went with growing old. A smile touched his lips as he remembered Evelyn telling him that. His Evelyn had turned forty-five this year, yet she was still as lovely as the first time he’d laid eyes on her, almost thirty years ago. He’d been a law student when he met the pretty French girl working in a New Orleans coffee shop. She spoke English with a heavy accent, and he’d indulged her the first weeks by speaking to her in the language of his Creole parents. Within a few months of knowing her, however, she’d settled for speaking only English, and her accent had all but faded to a light, exotic lilt. Lovely in both a beguiling and innocent way, vibrant with her lively personality, Charles always felt lucky she’d settled for him when so many had wanted her.
Evelyn was not in the bathroom.
He made his way down the curved staircase of the Scarsdale Colonial that had been their home for the past twelve years, and into the kitchen. It was dark, and showed no signs of his wife. There was no steaming mug of cocoa on the counter.
His brows crinkled.
“Evelyn,” he called, his voice louder this time. Where is she? Chills snaked over his body as he back tracked and began a quick search through the rooms of the first floor. The slight pain in his back all but forgotten, he raced up the stairs, and did the same for the second floor. Panic settled in, though he told himself there was nothing to be panicked about He was just about to head back to the bedroom when he caught sight of a strange, white light peaking out from under Vivienne’s old room door. Odd, he thought, Vivienne had always favored yellow lights, while Cassie chose fluorescent. Had his wife changed the bulbs?
He quickly moved into the room. Evelyn was on the floor, her legs crossed and her back to him. He let out a deep sigh of relief and shook his head.
The woman was going to be the death of him.
“Evelyn, it’s two-thirty in the morning. What are you doing?” he asked softly, moving farther into the room. He’d been wrong; the lights were off. The strange light he’d seen must have been the moon.
When she didn’t move, Charles walked around and knelt before her. Her eyes were closed, her arms propped in a relaxed state with her elbows against her thighs, and one hand cupped in the other, almost as if waiting to be given something. Her hair, lustrous black curls that attested to her mixed heritage, streamed down her back, and cast an eerie contrast to her pale nightgown. Was his wife sleepwalking?
He reached out with both hands and touched her shoulders, a frown marring his lips. “Evelyn?” he called softly, giving her a soft shake. Her eyes opened immediately, and his widened. Her eyes….
What were usually a warm, honey color was now completely black. Everything was black, her irises, her pupils. Dear God! He pulled back and closed his eyes tightly before opening them again. A black void stared back at him.
Suddenly, she blinked and her eyes returned to normal. It was almost as if he’d imagined it, yet he knew he had not. Charles couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. What—her eyes—Evelyn—?
Evelyn began to speak in a language that was neither English nor French and he released her, pushing to his feet as he stared at her in open-mouthed shock. He didn’t know that language, and neither should Evelyn. She knew only her native tongue and English, didn’t she? They’d raised their girls bilingual because of that.
She continued to speak as she rose and faced him. Her face was calm, her body relaxed, while he was frantic.
“Evelyn,” he said, his voice shaky. Charles ran a hand over his
face, closing his eyes, as he thought of what he’d just seen. What had he just seen? He’d been searching for his wife, and he’d found her in Vivienne’s old room.
He opened his eyes. Evelyn sat on Vivienne’s bed, a little smile on her face. She stood and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his larger body. At his six feet, one ninety pounds, Evelyn looked tiny next to him. She’d always been small of frame, the top of her head barely touching his upper chest.
“I’m sorry I worried you, Charles. I just miss them sometimes,” she told him in a low voice, leaning her head against him.
Charles nodded and smiled. He leaned down and kissed the top of her hair. He knew what she meant. His babies were now young ladies who no longer jumped onto his knee and demanded he tell them stories of princesses. Cassandre had been the bossy little terror, but Vivienne hadn’t minded, enjoying the princess stories just as much.
Evelyn looked up at him and he leaned down and kissed her lightly.
“Maybe we should have another,” he told her softly.
She chuckled and swatted him lightly on the bottom. “I’m too old to be having babies, Charles.”
“You?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Old?” He kissed her lips. “Never.”
Evelyn smiled, but he recognized it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Before he could ask what was wrong, she pulled away from him and took his hand in hers.
“Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”
He nodded and followed her, wondering at the sadness he’d just seen in her gaze. As she lay curled against him, Charles vowed to ask her about it in the morning. He hated when his wife was sad, and would do anything to remove that look from her eyes.
***
Vivienne awoke with a smile on her face, unable to suppress the moan of pleasure that left her lips. She felt…brilliant. She felt as she did after eight hours of rest, which had become rare and almost impossible in the past year. Yawning and pressing a hand to her mouth, she contorted her body as far as it would go, stretching out the tension in her muscles. As she did so, a dull, delicious throb erupted at her center, and she pulled her legs closer to her body even as her brows began to furrow. She’d never felt a throb there before. As if her brain finally took pity, memories flooded back to her. Of Conall between her legs, of her kneeling before him, eagerly awaiting his ministrations!
She shrieked and sat up, eyes widening as she frantically looked around. This was obviously not her walk-in-closet-sized room, nor was it the hotel. She had not been paying that much attention to the hotel suite in the first place but she would remember if it had looked anything like this. Everything in the room was either black or gold. The curtains, the comforter, the sheets—the chair in the corner. She mentally kicked herself. Not only had she lost her virginity to a man she knew little of, she’d been kidnapped!
A frantic laugh escaped her lips and she struggled to calm herself. No, she had not been kidnapped. Conall would have some logical explanation to why she was in this room and not the hotel. She sat up, tugging the covers with her so they covered her breasts, and looked over the side of the bed. Where were her clothes? She’d watched movies where people had slept together and their clothes were usually scattered about somewhere on the floor. As she took in the dark gold carpet on the floor, she wondered if anything had ever been on the floor. She lifted her eyes and skimmed the rest of the room: chairs, a large armoire, a large television. Where the hell were her clothes?
She’d just secured the throw around her body and was about to swing her legs over the edge of the bed when the door was pushed open and a blond head pushed inside. Vivienne’s eyes widened as mortification kept her still.
“I knew it,” Eli said, grinning broadly as he entered the room without any care, it seemed, for her embarrassment. He wore a red T-shirt with some form of writing on it—it looked like “Such an Animal,” gray sweat pants, and sneakers. His green eyes sparkled. “I knew you were here.”
“What are you doing in here?” she squeaked, looking about and feeling heat creep up into her cheeks. This was even more embarrassing than the time she’d visited her parents for Thanksgiving and her dad had walked into her room without knocking. They’d both learned a lesson that day: knock and lock. “And where am I? Where’s Conall?”
Eli paused and Vivienne saw his nostrils flare as he inhaled deep. His face lost its smile momentarily as he took quick steps away from her. Vivienne’s brows lifted. Had he just decided to become shy after boldly walking into the room when she was barely covered?
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’ll get him.” He turned to leave and Vivienne called out.
“Wait!” When he stopped, and turned to look at her, his brows lifted in puzzlement, she continued, “Where am I?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Cedar Creek.” With that, he left the room, pulling the door in behind him.
Cedar Creek? Vivienne’s eyes widened. Cedar Creek as in Cedar Creek Companies? CCC, the company, owned hotels, a few clubs, and hadn’t she read something about a Cedar Creek Estate?
He’d brought her to his house! Of course she was in his house. How else would Eli have just walked into the room? Wait, Cedar Creek wasn’t in the city. She felt a sliver of panic settle in. How had he moved to her to Cedar Creek without her knowing?
She remembered Max and Drew telling her she’d been drugged at the club, but she also remembered Conall, and the hot kisses they’d exchanged there. He hadn’t drugged her, had he? No. She scoffed at the thought, but she couldn’t shake it, especially with her waking up in his house when she distinctly remembered falling asleep at the hotel. Plus, if he’d drugged her, why would he bring her here? She tried to dismiss the thought, even as she stood and began a more thorough search for her clothes.
Her search led her to a door, which opened to reveal a large bathroom and two thick, black robes hanging inside. She swapped the comforter for the robe, washed her mouth and face, and was about to go back to searching for her clothes when an even more important thought occurred to her—the thought that should have been the first on her mind.
What time is it? She found a digital clock hanging on the wall—it couldn’t be! It was not 10:20 in the morning. The clock was wrong. She did not sleep this late on a work day. She blinked. Hastings was going to kill her!
Her body erupted into movement as she opened the bathroom door, intent on getting to a phone to call in, although she was an hour twenty minutes too late.
She ran into Conall…again. This time however, she clutched at his shirt to prevent the fall that would surely have come, and found herself staring up into those captivating eyes of his. Even as her face flushed and her body grew warm, she pushed away and moved around him, heading to the cordless phone beside the bed.
Without asking, she picked it up.
“Who are you calling?” His voice was casual and almost lazy. He hadn’t moved from his stance by the bathroom.
“My boss,” she replied, punching in the number to the law firm.
“I already took care of that.”
Her fingers stilled on the last digit and she stared incredulously at him.
“You what?” She’d heard incorrectly.
“Arnold and I are old friends. I took care of it.”
He took care of it? She’d been trying to get Arnold Hastings to give her more days off for months now, and Conall had taken care of it, because they were old friends?
It was then he moved, and as she watched him come toward her, she thought of an animal slowly stalking its prey. It did nothing to quell the heat coursing through her body. In fact, it did the opposite. The robe began to stifle her.
He stopped before her, took the phone from her hand, and placed it back onto the cradle. Vivienne swallowed audibly, her lips parting of their own volition as she stared into his eyes. Blue fire. That was what it was—wait! She needed answers.
She stepped away, almost falling onto the bed in her haste to put distance between them. Righting herself, s
he ran a hand down the front of the robe and pulled the belt tight, making sure it was still secured. A hint of a smile played around his lips and Vivienne glared at him. She knew he was laughing at her, could almost hear the taunt in her head.
“When, why, and how did I get here?”
The smile faded. He approached her again. Vivienne contemplated backing away but she knew he would welcome it. She sensed he liked the chase.
When he was standing directly before her, he spoke. “I brought you here last night.”
“How?”
“In my car.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember.”
“You were sleeping.”
Or drugged.
She saw his brows lift and she briefly wondered if she’d spoken aloud. No, she hadn’t. It wasn’t as if he could read her thoughts!
“Why did you bring me here?”
His face grew serious and then he stepped closer. A hand snaked about her waist as the other cupped her cheek. He pulled until she was pressed against his body.
Slowly, carefully, he asked, “What are you, Vivienne?”
To say that Vivienne’s thoughts were scrambled would have been an understatement. Her eyes followed the movement of his lips, so she knew what he’d asked, it was just taking a while to formulate an answer that could be deemed coherent.
Conall’s eyes suddenly darkened and he leaned down and attached his lips to hers. Moaning, Vivienne threw her arms around his neck, opening her mouth for the sweet invasion of his tongue. His hips surged against hers and she whimpered as her body instantly reacted, preparing itself for him. Somehow, she found the strength to push him back, even if he only moved an inch.
“Wait—s-stop!” Her hands moved to his shoulders, and she anchored them there. Drawing in quick breaths, and ignoring the heat that seemed to be licking at every inch of her body she added, “You didn’t answer my question.”
The hand at her waist slackened but didn’t fall. “You’re safe here.”
Taken by Moonlight Page 9
