More roses were here, sitting atop a dressing table with a mirror reflecting their beauty right behind them. A private bath snaked off one side of the room and as she moved to take a look, she wasn’t surprised to see the luxuriously appointed bathroom was twice the size of her entire bedroom suite at home. Green and white tiles covered the floor and the shower enclosure. A sage-green whirlpool tub sat beneath a bank of windows and a long sweep of counter held a wicker basket filled with shampoos and guest soaps that put five-star hotels to shame. Turning around, she watched Kieran drop her bags onto the big bed and then spare her a quick look. “You should be comfortable here.”
“Yeah,” she said, glancing around the room and noting with pleasure the private terrace nearly hidden behind sheer curtains. “I think so.”
Nodding again, he said only, “Settle in. Dinner is in an hour.”
Then he left her alone and as she walked to the French doors and opened them, walking out onto the stone terrace, she wondered if it would be possible to “settle in.” After all, she hardly knew him. Sure, she hadn’t found anything awful about him on the Internet, but how much did that mean, really?
A breath of cold air slipped past her and a chill snaked along her spine, making her shiver.
At the hotel, she’d felt as though she were in a cage. Here…she turned around, rested one hip on the stone balustrade and looked in at her gloriously appointed bedroom. Wasn’t this a cage, too? An even more difficult one to escape?
Had she done the right thing, trusting Kieran MacIntyre to keep her safe?
Or had she jumped from the frying pan into an inferno?
7
T he beast moved restlessly through the movie theater. Changing seats three times before finally settling behind a pretty young redhead who smelled of flowers and…promise. Around him, people muttered then settled down to watch the film flickering into life on the screen. Interesting, yes. But the beast had other, more important things to think about than bits of film. The Guardian had been close tonight. Close enough that the beast had been forced to flee its host’s body much earlier than it had planned. Though truly, it mused, running one hand over its new host’s chest, the change had been for the better. This body was taller, stronger and more comely. All for the best, it told itself. MacIntyre was good, but after a century and more of planning, the beast was better.
And it would not be denied its pleasures.
In the seat ahead of the beast, the woman threw her head back and laughed at something on the screen. The beast’s gaze locked on the curve of her neck and it, too, began to laugh.
Julie stepped into the biggest kitchen she’d ever seen. Gleaming stainless steel appliances crowded the walls and at least an acre of black granite countertops shone under the fluorescent lights. The walls were a dark brick red, almost matching the bricks in the massive hearth on the far wall.
Even California got a little chilly in January, and just looking at the flames snapping and licking at the tree-size logs made Julie feel warmer. A fireplace.
In the kitchen.
Oh, yeah, she thought. She could get used to a place like this. Even if it was huge. She’d gotten lost twice on her way to dinner. Not surprising in a place as big as a castle.
“This is amazing,” she said, glancing at Kieran as he closed a restaurantsize refrigerator with a bump from his hip.
“Thank you.” He set down an enormous blue glass bowl filled with potato salad and another, the same size, of pasta salad.
Already sitting in the middle of an antique walnut table, was a platter piled high with golden fried chicken—the scent of which had led her to the kitchen. Still, “This isn’t what I was expecting.”
One black eyebrow lifted. “You don’t like chicken?”
“No,” she said, moving to stand closer to the fire. “That’s not it. It’s just
—” she lifted both hands and waved them, indicating the entire house “—a place like this. So old-worldly, so—I don’t know. Fried chicken and potato salad just seem a little ordinary.”
“Don’t knock it,” a deep voice came out of nowhere and Julie jumped, startled, as a tall, broad man wearing blue jeans and a dark T-shirt that read Navy SEAL came in from outside.
“Nathan Hawke,” Kieran said, “Julie Carpenter. She’ll be staying here for a while.”
“Pleasure,” the big man said, though from the grim set of his features, she didn’t think he meant it. “As for the food, it looks great. First decent meal I’ve had since I got here.”
“Meaning?” she asked.
He shook his head as he walked to the sink, turned on the water and washed his hands. “Usually we’re sitting in a dining room for fifty and it’s salmon flown in from the Highlands. Or lobster flown in from Maine. Goose liver and snails, for God’s sake. About time we got some real food.”
Kieran stiffened, glared at the other man then shifted a look at Julie. “I thought you would be more comfortable in here.”
Sure, she thought. The peasant would be more comfy in a kitchen with picnic food. Don’t make her squirm by expecting her to have table manners. For God’s sake. The man was from another century. Kieran reached into the fridge for a bottle of wine. As he opened it, he nodded at the table. “Ignore him,” he said. “Sit. Eat.”
“Wow. So gracious.” She took a chair closest to the fireplace, still fighting a bone-deep chill. She sat down and reached for a piece of chicken. “I’m guessing you didn’t cook this.”
A harsh, short laugh shot from Nathan’s throat as he took a seat opposite her.
“My housekeeper does the cooking,” Kieran said, doing a good job of ignoring the other man himself.
Nathan began heaping food onto his plate in a way that told Julie there wouldn’t be many leftovers. She looked from one man to the other and wondered what the hell was going on? The two men couldn’t be more different from each other. Was Nathan a roommate? Family? Boarder? She almost laughed aloud at that thought. A man who lived in a freaking castle wouldn’t need to rent out rooms.
Kieran took a seat beside her and she somehow managed to stop a shiver of something delicious from making her sigh.
“So,” she said into a silence that was beginning to wear on her, “are you guys old ‘friends’?”
Nathan glanced at Kieran and shrugged. “I’ve been here awhile now.”
“Uh-huh. And is there something I should know about…” Her voice trailed off. An uncomfortable question and judging by the way Kieran kissed, she was willing to bet he was as straight as a ruler. Still, two gorgeous men, living in a castle, cut off from everyone else…well, this was Hollywood after all and better to know right up-front.
Kieran frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
Nathan choked on a piece of chicken. Shaking his head, he said, “No way, lady. I live here. That’s all.”
“Good to know.” Not that it mattered, she thought, taking a spoonful of potato salad before the two men devoured it all. She wasn’t here to be romanced, for pity’s sake. She was here because a psycho killer might be after her.
The fire at her back sent warmth scuttling through her system and when Kieran’s arm brushed her bare forearm, her skin prickled as if from an electrical charge. She shouldn’t have changed out of her sweater into a short-sleeved silk blouse. Just for her own peace of mind, she eased away from him.
He noticed and frowned.
Too bad.
“So, what do you guys do?” she asked, breaking another silence. “I mean for a living.”
“No questions,” Kieran said firmly, giving her a look designed to quell the fainthearted. Then he shot another look at Nathan. “She’s a reporter.”
“Ah…” The other man nodded and looked at her as if she belonged on a glass slide under a microscope. A moment later, he dismissed her and turned to Kieran. “Santos called while you were out. Seemed to think it was important.”
“I’ll call him.”
“Who’s Santos?” Julie tried, not re
ally expecting an answer.
“A friend,” Kieran said and leaned across her to get the bottle of wine. He did it on purpose, she knew. That long reach, his forearm brushing against her breasts and lighting up her insides like a fireworks show at Disneyland. Her nipples were tingling and her blood was humming. For God’s sake, it was only a touch.
“Look,” she said, a little more abruptly than she might have if she hadn’t been on a slow simmer, “I agreed to come here, but I’m not going to be treated like a prisoner.”
“No one has treated you as a prisoner,” Kieran argued.
“I’m not allowed to ask questions,” she reminded him.
“On the contrary, you may ask all the questions you wish. You simply will not receive answers.”
Nathan snorted and she fired a glare at him.
Firelight played on Kieran’s features, shifting shadow and light across his face and into his eyes. It was hypnotic, she thought and forced herself to look away from him.
You are safe here.
Julie jumped and her gaze snapped back to his. “I told you to quit doing that,” she said tightly. “I don’t want you in my mind.”
He shrugged. “Then prevent it.”
“How?”
A smile curved his mouth and she almost fell off her chair in surprise. The man should really smile more often. Of course, if he did, she might be in even bigger trouble.
“No questions answered,” he said, clearly enjoying her fluster. This was great. She’d been an idiot for coming here with him.
“You know what?” she said, pushing up and away from the table suddenly,
“I’m done. Thanks for dinner.” She turned for the back door, then stopped. “Oh. Is it all right with you if I go outside?”
He nodded briefly. “Stay on the grounds.”
“And just how would I get past your iron welcome gate anyway?” she muttered and yanked the door open. She slammed it shut behind her and silence dropped onto the kitchen for several long minutes. Finally Nathan looked at his friend. “Why’d you bring her here? I know I’m new to the whole Guardian thing. But I thought we were supposed to keep a low profile. Secrecy and all that shit.”
Kieran blew out a breath, picked up his glass and drained what was left of his chilled white wine. Setting the glass down again, he looked at the man across from him.
Nathan Hawke had been dead only three years. He was very new to the Guardians, and according to tradition was being trained by a more experienced Guardian. In this case, Kieran.
As a Navy SEAL, Nathan already possessed the skills that would see him through eternity. Now all he really needed to learn was how to use that training to hunt demons.
“She’s a reporter for God’s sake,” Nathan said, waving one hand at the closed door and the backyard beyond. “Isn’t that asking for trouble?”
“Yes and no,” Kieran sighed, suddenly feeling every one of his four hundred and sixty-four years. “Because of what she is, she’ll ask questions and try to dig for truths. Because of who she is, she won’t use whatever she finds.”
“You’re sure about that?” Nathan looked less than convinced.
“I’m sure,” he said, pushing up from the table and heading for the back door. “Clear this up when you’re finished. Mrs. Rosen won’t let either one of us live if the kitchen’s a mess when she wakes up.”
“We’re immortal,” Nathan reminded him with a rare smile.
“And she can make eternity a nightmare if she chooses. Clean it up.”
Without another word, Kieran opened the back door and stepped out onto the flagstone patio.
Full grown trees ringed the yard and house, towering over the battlements, shielding the property from curious eyes. There were other impressive homes in the area he knew, and most of them were at least partially visible from the freeways or from the hilltops. But when Kieran had built this place, he’d planned ahead.
Pines, oaks, maples, the tallest trees he could find were all planted strategically, ensuring him of the solitude he knew was necessary if he were to keep his identity a secret. Yes, he was known as a philanthropist. He had no trouble donating money to worthy causes. Besides helping others, it gave him enough of a cloak of mystery that most people respected his privacy. Mainly because they didn’t want to risk pissing him off and ending his donations.
It all had worked well for more than fifty years.
Until Julie Carpenter entered his life.
His gaze, as sharp in the darkness as in daylight, swept the yard, noting every shrub, every flower, every fountain and bench. All was as it should be.
Then he spotted her, at the edge of the lawn, sitting on a redwood bench below an oak tree he’d imported half grown from Scotland. A memory of his life. A reminder of how that life had ended.
As if he needed one.
He set off across the patio and stepped onto neatly manicured grass. His housekeeper and her husband, the gardener, had been with him for forty years. They were aware of the Guardians, having both been born into families who took oaths of loyalty and service to the cause. When the Rosens became too old or infirm to work, they would retire to a home Kieran had ready for them in the Bahamas. And their son and his wife would move into the castle and continue to help the Guardians. His footsteps were faint on the damp grass. He could have obfuscated himself, slipped up on her unaware. But he didn’t think she could take many more jolts of surprise. As much as it irritated him, the turns his life had taken in the last few days, he reminded himself that her life was in even more turmoil.
She was unprepared for the kind of things she was now facing. And though it shamed him to admit it, he hadn’t made it any easier for her. She looked up when he approached and lurched to her feet as though she was about to sprint away. Then she changed her mind, lifted her chin and said shortly, “Even a prisoner is entitled to a little privacy.”
“You’re not a prisoner.”
“No? Don’t leave the grounds? Isn’t that what you said a few minutes ago?”
“It’s for your own safety.”
“And just how do I know I’m safe here?”
“You feel it.”
“Don’t tell me what I feel.”
“I shouldn’t have to,” he said, walking closer, one small step at a time, as if trying to sneak up on a wild animal ready to bolt.
“Why won’t you answer my questions?”
“You know why. You’re a reporter.”
“I gave you my word I wouldn’t write about any of this,” she said, insult humming around her. “Besides, who would I write it for? A ghost magazine? Psychotic Monthly? Nobody would ever believe any of this.”
She stopped, ran one hand through her hair and muttered, “Even I don’t believe it and I’m living it.”
Kieran heard the whisper of confusion in her voice. The very real edge of not despair, but surrender, and it bothered him. Scowling, he realized that he had admired her formidable nature even as it had annoyed him. And now, seeing that strong foundation shake even a little, was troubling. He held out one hand. “Come with me.”
She looked from his hand to his eyes and asked, “Why?”
“Woman, must you have a question for everything? Is there no risk-taking in your blood?”
“Well pardon the hell out of me,” she snapped. “It’s been a rough couple of days in case you’ve forgotten.”
Nearly growling in frustration, he simply asked, “Will you come?”
She hugged her arms around her middle against the chill of the January night and considered him for a long minute. While she was thinking, Kieran slipped off his long-sleeved black shirt, stepped close and laid it over her shoulders.
“What’s that for?”
“You’re cold,” he said, holding out his hand again. She shimmied into the shirt, sliding her arms into sleeves that hung well over the backs of her hands. The warmth from his body, his scent, clung to the fabric, making her warmer than she would have been wrapped up in a cashmere bla
nket. Then she looked at him, bare chested in the moonlight and asked, “You’re not cold?”
A slight smile curved his mouth and disappeared again in an instant. “No.”
She kept watching him, curiosity shining in her eyes, so he granted her a small boon and added, “I’m Scottish. A California ‘winter’ is no colder than one of our soft, summer days.”
Julie laid her hand in his and when his fingers closed around hers, she said, “Thanks.”
“For…?”
“Actually answering a question with more than a single word.”
He smiled again and instantly frowned when he realized it. Kieran couldn’t remember smiling as much in the last twenty years as he had in the last hour. She was changing things, whether she meant to or not and he wasn’t happy with that knowledge.
“How do you do that?” she asked as he started walking back toward the house, leading her through the darkness with unerring steps.
“Do what?”
“Go from a smile to a scowl in less than a heartbeat?”
“More questions?”
“No more answers?”
He opened the back door, nodded to Nathan, still at the table, and turned left and kept walking, taking her up the staircase behind a pantry stocked with enough food to feed them all for months.
“Wow,” she murmured as she started up the wide, stone steps, “you’re ready for a siege, aren’t you?”
“Again, questions.”
“Again,” she retorted, a laugh in her voice, “no answers.”
“You are an infuriating woman, Julie Carpenter.”
“That’s been said before,” she admitted, keeping pace with his long legs as they climbed and climbed and climbed. “Where are we going?”
His grip on her hand tightened. “Patience.”
“Hello. Maybe you haven’t met me. I’m Julie and I don’t do patience.”
“Yes, I have noticed,” he said, stopping on a landing at the top of the house.
Julie glanced down the long hall behind them. Wall sconces shaped like old-fashioned gaslights spilled a warm, golden glow on the polished wood floor. Paintings lined these walls too and when she spotted a Monet, she wondered if it was an original.
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