Edge of Desire
Page 4
“So if we can’t talk about the woman, how about the other?” Kellan asked, pulling Riley from his internal thoughts as the first drops of rain finally began to fall.
“Other?”
“What you did,” Kellan said, lowering his voice, “stopping that last pie in midair. Don’t think I didn’t notice it. We’ve been wondering at Ravenswing what your weird little Buchanan gift would be. Looks like we found it.”
Riley knew exactly what Kellan was referring to. His brother and sister each had special…talents, though Ian was still trying to come to grips with his unusual dreams and instances of precognition. But unlike Saige, who had discovered that she could communicate with physical objects when she was still in her teens, it seemed that his and Ian’s “gifts” had been brought on by their awakenings. Or simply unlocked, as Saige had explained it, believing the unusual powers had always been there, lying dormant because of his and Ian’s unwillingness to accept that they were anything more than human.
“I’m guessing some sort of telekinesis,” Kellan added.
“I have no idea what it is,” Riley muttered. “And I sure as hell don’t feel like talking about it. I just need some peace and quiet right now. I need to be able to think.”
“Think all you like. But it isn’t going to change anything.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded in a gritty rasp, just as the Watchman’s cell phone began to ring.
Instead of explaining, Kellan just smiled and answered the call.
CHAPTER THREE
An hour later…
GREGORY DEKREZNICK SAT at the bar of a crowded local hangout in Wellsford, Washington, just up the coast from the quaint, cliff-side town of Purity. Despite the verdant feeding ground provided by a local college, his mood was sour. He missed Brazil, where he’d spent the first weeks of his freedom stalking little Saige Buchanan. Missed the hot, searing burn of the South American sunshine. Missed his brother, Malcolm, whose life had been taken by that son-of-a-bitch Ian Buchanan.
What he didn’t miss was Meridian, the stinking hell-pit where the Casus had been imprisoned for centuries, cursed to a fate worse than death. Where he’d slowly rotted away, year after year, until Anthony Calder had finally sent him through the gate and back to this world. The first Casus to successfully organize their race into a cohesive force, bringing rule to the anarchy, Calder was the one who’d finally offered the Casus hope, as well as the chance of freedom. But it didn’t come without a price.
Calder wanted the liberated Casus to avoid human kills. To feed only from the Merrick, so that they might bring more of their kind across the divide. To find the Dark Markers, though he still hadn’t shared why they were so important to their freedom. Yeah, Calder wanted a lot of things, not that he cared.
All Gregory wanted was power. He liked the taste of it. The smell. The way it filled his head, his body, making him feel like a god. And he would use his power to strike down the Buchanans, one by one. They’d taken his brother, and now he’d made it his mission in life to take away everything, and anything, they cared about.
Then, once his thirst for revenge had been quenched, he would set his sights on new prey. On finding a new rival. Someone to push against, to keep himself entertained. Calder was ideal, since Gregory had never cared for the sanctimonious prick, and for that reason he was already planning on keeping any Markers that happened to fall into his lap. Calder was desperate for the Dark Markers, promising significant rewards to any Casus who handed a Marker over into Westmore’s possession. Instead, Gregory thought it would be fun to collect them himself, just to screw with whatever ol’ Calder had planned for the crosses.
But first he would finish the job here, then track down his own little Merrick—the one he’d caused to awaken when he’d returned to this world—and get it out of the way. Though he wouldn’t use the power he took from the feeding to bring another Casus back from Meridian, the idea of letting someone else take what was his grated against his pride. And now that Malcolm was gone, his pride was all that he had left.
Scrubbing his hands down his face, Gregory stared at the image reflected back at him in the mirror behind the bar. The human host he’d taken wasn’t bad for something that was no more than food. A long, well-muscled body, topped off by a chiseled face that drew women to him with ridiculous ease. The chin-length, sun-streaked brown hair worked well with his tanned complexion, but there was a gauntness to the compelling features that hadn’t been there before, and he knew he needed to feed. He’d been so busy watching, and waiting, that he hadn’t seen properly to his needs. Now he was hungry, the craving for a warm, lush body grinding him down. A male could satisfy his need for nourishment—but only a woman could give him what he really required to feel whole…powerful. Only a woman—spread and pinned and bleeding beneath him, screaming in terror as she saw her death reflected in his eyes—could fully slake his dark, insatiable hungers.
He still wasn’t happy about losing his chance to get at little Saige, but now that Riley Buchanan had headed off with only one Watchman for protection, things were definitely looking up.
To celebrate, he’d decided to treat himself to a good meal. The scent of warm, female flesh surrounded him, a carnal banquet of fresh-faced college girls steadily streaming in as they gathered with their friends on a lazy Saturday afternoon. He watched them in the mirror, searching for the one who most appealed to him. The one he’d charm away from her friends, getting her alone, where he could throw off this pathetic human mask and show her what he was really made of.
The door opened for another customer, allowing the biting wind to whip through the heated interior, and he scowled. This place is too bloody cold, he thought, taking a drink of his beer, noting that a strange, new energy suddenly seemed to be spilling through the room. Looking over his shoulder, he had to fight down the urge to snarl as he watched the newcomer heading straight toward him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he stormed, the instant the woman eased onto the stool at his left. She was stunningly gorgeous, but then he knew Pasha well enough to know that she’d never take an unattractive body. She was too vain. One of the most beautiful Casus females when in human form, she’d been renowned for leading unsuspecting men to their doom, taking them to the heights of sexual ecstasy, before taking them to pieces.
She was tall, probably around five-nine, her body one of provocative valleys and swells that drew every male eye in the bar. Deep, pale green eyes—the shocking color only made more striking by the dark, glossy tendrils of ink-black hair tumbling around her perfect features—stared back at him with a bold, aggressive air of confidence, which was why Casus females held so little interest to the males. Instead of screaming when you hurt them, they just laughed…then begged for more, which ruined the mood, as far as he was concerned.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Gregory DeKreznick,” she purred, running one perfectly manicured nail down the muscled length of his arm. “Wow. You’ve finally got a little meat back on your bones. I take it freedom is sitting well with you?”
He stared, recognizing the sensual tilt of her mouth, the glittering calculation in her gaze. Even though she was wearing the body of a host, he knew precisely who she was. “What do you want, Pasha?”
“Can’t I come calling on an old friend?” she asked, leaning closer, as if she were sharing something intimate.
Forcing the words through his clenched teeth, he said, “We were never friends.”
“But we could be,” she murmured, smiling at the bartender as she gestured toward Gregory’s beer, silently asking for one of her own. “We’re all on the same side here, you know. Freedom of our kind and all that.”
A rough, husky bark of laughter jerked from his throat. “I could give a shit about our kind, and you know it. I’m in this for no one but me. As others have already discovered.”
She crossed her legs, the black miniskirt she wore rising along her slender thigh, revealing far more skin than was decent.
Holding his stare, there was a knowing edge to her words as she said, “From what I hear, Gregory, you’re in it for revenge.”
“Is that right?” he asked, forcing a bored tone to his words, though he couldn’t help but wonder what she was after.
“Mmm,” she purred. “Heard the oldest Buchanan took out Malcolm. Dear big brother is rotting in hell now, no?”
His eyes narrowed, a low, feral snarl surging up from his chest, but he fought back his temper, focusing on keeping his fangs and claws from releasing. Now wasn’t the time to rip the stupid bitch to shreds. “Last time, Pasha. What the fuck are you doing here?”
She smiled at the burly bartender as he approached with her beer, his brown eyes glazed with lust. “They’re so pathetically easy,” she murmured with a casual air, when the guy reluctantly moved away to take an order at the far end of the bar. “And in answer to your question, Gregory, I think you know exactly why I’m here.” Her smile was sly as she met his stare. “Doubt I’ll be the only competition you have coming into town.”
Yeah, he’d known that competition was on its way, simply because Riley Buchanan wasn’t his. Wasn’t the Merrick that Gregory’s release had caused to awaken. And then there was the issue of the Marker, which the other Casus knew the Buchanans would be going after, now that Saige was once again in possession of the maps. It was going to be a battle to get his hands on the Merrick and the Marker, but he had no intention of turning tail. No, he wanted this too badly. Wanted to take the Buchanans apart, piece by piece. But they had the other two in lockdown. The only one to venture out of the safety of Ravenswing was the lawman, and Gregory knew exactly what the bastard was after.
“You want the Marker,” he said to Pasha. “The one he’s come here to find.”
“That would be nice,” she drawled. “But I want the sheriff, too.”
Gregory snorted. “Well, you’re not getting him. He’s mine.”
She ran her finger around the top of her glass, and softly said, “Actually, Gregory, he’s mine.”
“Shit,” he muttered, understanding exactly what she meant. In an effort to promote order among the newly escaped Casus, it’d been decided that since only a fully awakened Merrick could provide their kind with the “ultimate” feeding, each escaped Casus would be allowed exclusive rights to the Merrick their return to this realm had caused to awaken. It was an important rule, as only a Merrick could provide the power charge needed for the Casus to “pull” another one of his kind back from Meridian, bringing them across the divide. It was also a rule that Gregory had no intention of following.
“You knew someone would be coming for him,” she murmured. “That someone’s me. And the others, well, they know he’s here for the Marker. They’ll wait until he’s found it and reached full power before striking, but the competition is only going to get worse. If you’d listen, I can guarantee you’ll be interested in what I have to say.”
“Better yet,” he growled, “why don’t you just get the hell away from here and forget you ever even heard the name Buchanan.”
She shook her head, which sent the dark, silky curls tumbling over her shoulders. “I can’t do that, and you know it. But,” she said, watching him carefully, “I was hoping we could make a deal.”
Shifting so that he faced her on the stool, he asked, “And what exactly did you have in mind?”
She leaned forward, keeping her voice low to ensure they weren’t overheard by the customers crowding in, some kind of college sporting event getting ready to play on the multitude of televisions situated throughout the bar. When she was done with her explanation, she straightened and took a drink from her glass. Gregory rubbed a hand over his bristled jaw, unable to deny that he was intrigued. He wanted Riley Buchanan, but Pasha’s proposal was tempting. And the conniving little bitch knew it.
It would mean waiting, but for the prize she was offering, he could stomach holding off. And in the meantime, he’d do his best to screw with the sheriff’s mind. Twist the knife until he had him jumping to his tune. It would be so easy. And, hell, maybe even a little fun.
“Just think about it,” she said, smiling as she slipped a piece of paper in front of him. She took another drink of her beer, laid a ten-dollar bill on the polished bar, then winked at the blonde who suddenly pressed up close against Gregory’s other side, the giggling girl obviously in the mood to flirt. Pasha was right, he thought. They really did make it too easy.
Slipping off her stool, the beautiful Casus leaned in close to his ear. “I’ll let you go and enjoy your meal now,” she whispered, allowing her lips to brush against the side of his throat. “But be a good boy and give me a call when you’re ready to talk.”
CHAPTER FOUR
10:00 p.m.
HOPE DIDN’T KNOW how long she’d been standing at the deep bay window, staring out into the thick fall of darkness at the faint, flickering glow of light just visible through the trees. Someone was out there, smoking a cigarette. She watched as the tip moved with a slow rhythm each time the person lifted it to their lips, took a drag, then lowered it again. She could just make out the shadow of their body leaning against the trunk of one of the thick, massive maple trees that lined the back garden. The form was decidedly male. Tall. Broad. Rangy and lean.
Riley.
A flurry of startled, disquieting emotions took flight inside her, and she pressed one trembling hand to her belly. It seemed so surreal now, and yet she knew she hadn’t imagined the things that had happened earlier that day. Her high school sweetheart showing up in her café, walking back into her life after all these years, blasting her with his sharp, potent energy. God, her skin was still tingling in the places he’d touched her, a wild heat still blooming beneath her skin that made her press her cold hands to her cheeks for relief.
She should have never stopped throwing pies at him that morning, because once she had, she’d had to breathe…and look at him. It’d been impossible not to stare, her heart beating so hard it’d been a physical pain. He’d been gorgeous as a boy, but the man. God…the man was stunning, with a drop-your-jaw-and-stare-at-him-on-the-street kind of masculinity that no doubt got him noticed wherever he went. He was animal beautiful. Like something…something feral and wild. Predatory and dangerous.
She wasn’t buying the story he’d continued to spill when he’d come back that afternoon, but then he never had been able to lie worth a damn. In clipped, graveled tones, he’d explained how Saige had become an anthropologist, claiming that she’d been in search of a family heirloom that some dangerous people were working to get their hands on. An heirloom they had reason to believe was buried out in the woods, because of a map that Saige had found. When she’d pressed him for details, he’d refused to tell her anything more, saying again that the less she knew, the better. And while she found the whole story incredulous—the idea of something that belonged to the Buchanans being buried there in Washington…on her land—Hope knew there was something bad going on for Riley to still be there. Something was up. Something that was important to him, though God only knew what it could be.
But his frustration at having to deal with her had been obvious. She knew, if he’d had the choice, that he’d have turned and gotten out of Purity so fast he’d have left a trail of smoke behind him. And while she’d tried to tell herself throughout the late morning and early afternoon that she didn’t care if he came back or not, there had been a strange sense of panic in her chest until he’d finally walked back through the front door of the café at three o’clock.
The feelings rioting through her were a bad sign, but who knew? Maybe having him there would be a good thing. Help her to move on. Find closure. It was the only reason she’d given in that afternoon, pretending that she bought the load of drivel he’d given her, allowing him and his too-handsome-for-his-own-good friend to take one of their cabins.
Yeah, sure it was.
She blew out a shaky breath, and argued with the voice in her head. After all, allowing him to stay was exactly
what her therapists would have told her to do. Closure, she reminded herself. That was what she could get out of this. Finally, after all this time.
The only problem was the way he made her feel, as if she’d crawl out of her skin if she didn’t get her hands on him. It was a strange, startling sensation, after going for so many years without feeling anything even remotely sexual. It was as if that part of her had shut down, only to be zapped back to life, and now she was hungry. Starving, actually. And nothing in the café’s kitchen was going to ease the craving that churned through her veins like a molten burn of fire.
But she had to face the facts. She was one pathetic puppy. Even if she weren’t furious with him, she wouldn’t know how to get what she needed. From an early age, she’d been lectured on what good girls do and don’t do. Her mother had gotten pregnant by a married man at the age of seventeen, and left a newborn Hope with her devastated grandmother, then hit the road in search of a new life. Desperate to make her grandmother happy, Hope had allowed the woman’s lectures to form the framework of her personality, and it had led to disaster.