If you’d try…she’d let you take what you need. You know she would. If you told her you were in pain…that you needed it, she would never tell you no. Not Hope.
The dangerous, tempting words came from a dark, seething place buried deep inside him, and Riley knew it was the Merrick. The creature was conniving, he’d give him that. Its hunger was growing stronger…wearing him down, his body aching like an addict going through the brutal symptoms of withdrawal. It wanted satisfaction. Completion. It wanted power and sustenance and the feel of a soft, womanly body beneath it as it buried its fangs into tender, succulent flesh.
And for some goddamn reason which was going to be the death of him, it seemed to have fixated on Hope.
Riley swung his hand through the air in a sharp, cutting motion, as if he could swipe away the dark, destructive images burning through his mind, of him and Hope together, her pale thighs spread wide as he powered into her, shoving deeper…and deeper. The sound of something heavy colliding with a nearby tree made him flinch. Looking up at the sound, he found himself staring at the bizarre sight of his coffee Thermos embedded in the rough trunk of a towering Garry oak.
Holy shit. When he’d cut his hand through the air, he must have inadvertently swept up the Thermos without touching it and hurled it at the tree. The realization stunned him, and he scrubbed his hand down his face, quietly freaking out. Christ, what if Kellan had been standing there? Or Hope? He could have hurt someone. Killed them.
The power or telekinesis or whatever it was appeared to be growing stronger, but he still didn’t know why. Was it because the Merrick was coming closer to the surface? Or was it simply that his control was slipping? Ever since he’d learned that the awakenings were coming, it had been sliding through his fingers like rushing water, and that’s when the first signs of the power had started to show. Since seeing Hope, that control had slipped further from his grasp…leaving the power freer to escape.
He needed to be careful, damn it. Needed to rein in his temper. Needed to learn to control the Merrick until he found that Marker, doing everything he could to master its craving.
Hope, it growled through his head, telling him what it wanted, and Riley choked back a snarl, slamming the shovel back into the ground, wishing that he could just find the bloody cross. Now. Before things got any worse. And yet he couldn’t deny that there was a dark, secret part of him that hoped it would take them just a little bit longer. That he could have just a little more time with her.
“Enough,” he muttered under his breath. “Get a damned grip.”
The sudden sound of someone coming through the trees caught his attention, the scent on the air telling him that it was Kellan. The awakening Merrick was altering his senses, making them sharper…more precise, so that he could now identify people by their smell alone.
“This sucks out loud,” Kellan muttered, twisting off the top of his water bottle and taking a long drink as he came into view. They’d mapped out the prime search area based on calculations Saige had given them, with Kellan starting on one end, and Riley working at the other. They would search the area in rows, until they met in the middle, and if the cross still hadn’t been found at that point, then the original square would be widened, until they finally discovered the Marker’s resting place.
Taking another drink, Kellan wiped the back of his wrist over his mouth and continued to bitch. “I mean it, man. This sucks on so many different levels, I don’t even know where to start. It’s cold. Rainy. Windy. I thought Saige said the damn Marker would be easy for us to find. That she had an even better reading on this map, after using the first one to find that Marker down in Brazil.”
Unfortunately, that Marker was now in Westmore’s possession, leaving them with only one, until they found the cross buried there in Purity.
“She said it might be easier,” Riley murmured, hunching his shoulders against the blistering wind. Despite the crappy weather, he still thought the area was intensely beautiful, the deep, earthy brown of the tree trunks and branches in sharp contrast to the jeweled, mossy green of the leaves. Everything smelled moist and rich and alive, like a primeval Eden filled with blossoming life. He was sure that by the time his sister had finished deciphering the maps, the others would find themselves searching in places far worse than this. “But it’s not an exact science,” he went on to say, wiping a sheen of sea-scented mist from his face. “Saige warned us we might have to keep expanding the search area.”
Using her unusual gift of communicating with physical objects, his sister was still working out just how to understand the strange, encrypted maps that she’d found buried with the first Dark Marker in Italy. They called it the first, or original Marker, simply because it had been the first one that she’d found, and had been buried with the maps that led to the location of who knew how many others. No one knew how many crosses the original Consortium—the organization that governed the ancient clans—had made, and the maps were actually nothing more than an endless set of directions to various locations around the world. The directions bled into one another, the code evolving as it went, which meant you couldn’t look at the weathered sheets and say exactly how many Markers they would lead to. The act of deciphering the strange code was a tedious one, and so far only Saige knew how to do it. Her fiancé, Quinn, was trying to help her, but who knew how long it would take to work through all of them. Weeks? Months? Years?
Although it’d been proven that the maps were a valuable aid, when Saige used the first one to finally unearth the second Marker in Brazil, it had not been an easy process. The maps were anything but specific, and she’d had to search a substantial area of rain forest before she’d found the cross. She thought she’d gotten a more exact read on this second map, narrowing down the search area, but Riley wasn’t holding out much hope. With the way his luck had been going lately, he wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up excavating a good half-acre or more before they found what they’d come for.
Leaning his shoulders back against one of the thickest trunks, Kellan bent his right knee, braced his foot on the tree and took another drink of his water. “Do you think Westmore and his men made copies of the maps?” the Watchman asked after a moment, while a low, ominous rumble of thunder accompanied his words. Westmore had actually had possession of the maps for a few days, until they’d gotten them back with Seth McConnell’s help.
“I’m sure they did,” Riley replied, shoveling aside a layer of soil. “But who knows how long it will take for them to learn how to read them. Hell, without Saige, they might never be able to decipher that series of codes.”
Kellan grunted under his breath, jerking his chin toward Riley’s spade. “Well, if we don’t hurry up and find this thing, I’m going to start thinking they’ve already been and gone.”
Riley shook his head, working the shovel back into the moist earth. “If that was the case, we’d know. I don’t think Gregory, if he’s here, would be holding out, waiting for me to feed and fully awaken before trying to kill me. From what Quinn and Saige said, he’s more interested in revenge than he is in getting enough power to bring more Casus back from Meridian. Which means he must be waiting for us to the find the Marker, like the others will probably do, and then he’ll make his move.”
At least he hoped that was the case. It made him uneasy as hell, not knowing what the Casus were up to. What they had planned. With every minute he and Kellan spent searching that verdant patch of forest, the monsters were out there, waiting. No doubt watching them. As the sky cracked open with a thundering jolt of lightning, Riley looked toward the cloud-scarred horizon and shivered. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt as if something bad was coming in on the weather. Something ugly and dark and destructive. And when it hit, all hell was going to break loose.
God, he needed that damn Marker. If he didn’t find it soon, he would have to get Hope out of there, whether she was willing to go or not. It couldn’t just drag on, the danger…the not knowing when it was going to hit.
> Kellan yawned again from his resting place against the tree, sounding as if he were ready to drop. Riley buried the shovel back into the ground, resting his hands on the handle as he studied the Watchman through narrowed eyes. “Just what were you up to last night?” he asked. Kellan had headed into town, saying he needed to blow off some steam after they’d grabbed dinner in the café. He hadn’t gotten back before two, which was when Riley had finally managed to fall asleep.
“What do you think I was doing?” Kellan laughed, dropping his head back against the tree as he closed his eyes.
Knowing he sounded like a lecturing father, Riley said, “We’re in the middle of a war, Kell, and you’re still out every night getting laid. Your brother’s terrified that sooner or later you’re going to end up in bed with the wrong woman.”
“There’s no such thing,” Kellan drawled, opening his eyes. “And this one was definitely right. Long black hair. Big green eyes. And legs that go all the way to the floor. Amazing.”
“You do realize that you could end up getting the poor woman killed, don’t you? If the Casus see you with her, she’ll be an easy target. One they’ll use against us.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Kellan muttered, his laughing expression replaced by a tense scowl. “I’m not an idiot. We left the bar separately and then met up later at a motel. No one saw me enter, and no one saw me leave. I made sure of it.”
“You better hope so,” he grunted. “Because if not, you’re going to have one helluva burden on your conscience.”
“You know, Ri. Maybe you’d be a little less pissy about my sex life if you were getting some of your own.”
“Shut up, Kellan.”
“The hunger’s wearing you down, man. You can’t hold out forever.”
Slanting the redhead a look of serious warning, he said, “I’ve got it under control.”
“Like hell you do,” Kellan shot back, pushing away from the tree. “I still don’t know what the deal is between you and Hope, but I’m not blind. It’s obvious you want her. So either take care of it and ’fess up to Hope, or you’re going to have to go with option two.”
“And what the hell is option two?” he growled.
Lowering his voice, Kellan said, “We’ll find a female Watchman. Like we tried to do for Ian.”
“Oh, Christ,” he muttered, pulling his hand down the lower part of his face, the bristles of his stubble scratching against his palm. Ian had told him about how Kierland Scott, Kellan’s brother, had arranged to have a female Watchman named Morgan come down from Reno so that Ian could feed from her. But since a Merrick feeding for males consisted of taking blood during sex, Ian had refused, knowing that he would lose Molly, his fiancée, if he took what he needed from another woman.
Glaring at the younger man, he said, “You know, something tells me this Morgan woman isn’t going to like being offered up as the Watchman whore again.”
Something shifted in Kellan’s odd-colored eyes, like a flash of rage, hinting at a side that he rarely showed. Despite being a kick-ass fighter when the situation called for it, Kellan always played the clown. The easygoing prankster who enjoyed riling everyone around him. But in that moment, it suddenly occurred to Riley that there was more going on with the irreverent Watchman than he’d guessed, and he felt like an idiot for not seeing it earlier.
With a gruff bite to his words that Riley had never heard before, Kellan said, “Don’t talk about Morgan like that. She didn’t have to come down to Colorado to make that offer to your brother, but she did. And she damn well didn’t do it because she’s a whore. Though she’d rather die than admit it, the truth is that she’d do anything that Kierland asked her to do.”
Riley lifted his hand, rubbing at the knotted tension in the back of his neck as he thought over what Kellan had said. “Huh. So is there, like, a history between those two?”
Kellan rolled his shoulder in a frustrated gesture and pressed his lips together, obviously knowing better than to start gossiping about his brother’s private life. He muttered something foul under his breath, then shoved his water bottle beneath his arm and pushed his hands into his pockets. “At any rate, I wasn’t thinking of Morgan. But we could go to one of the other compounds, see if there’s anyone there who you’re interested in. At least a female Watchman will know what to expect from bedding down with a Merrick.”
It soured his stomach to think of it—the idea of finding some stranger and nailing her…taking her blood. But even as he thought about it, Riley knew the problem wouldn’t be the woman. No, he’d spent his life sleeping with women who didn’t touch him any deeper than his skin. The problem was with him, because at the end of the day, there was only one woman he could imagine doing something that intimate with. Only one woman who could truly give both the man and the Merrick what they needed.
Clearing his throat, he said, “What do you think the others are doing?”
Kellan lifted his brows, the surging wind blowing his dark red hair into his face. “What others?”
“The other Merrick,” Riley grunted, not quite meeting the Watchman’s gaze. He felt too open…too exposed, as if his longing for a woman he could never have was plastered all over his face, etched into his hot eyes like a blinding neon sign. “The ones who are awakening and need to feed the hunger.”
“Those who have wives or girlfriends are probably doing okay,” Kellan murmured, “so long as they aren’t partnered up with a bitch. But the single ones, they’re in the same boat you are. Hopefully they’ll be smart about what they’re doing, or we’re going to have a helluva time keeping the stories of bloodsuckers out of the news.”
Riley nodded, thinking that he didn’t envy the Watchmen and the Consortium—the governing body of officials the shifters worked for—their jobs. In today’s world, it had to feel like a constantly losing battle, trying to keep the existence of the remaining ancient clans out of the media spotlight. Keeping the tales relegated to superstitious folklore. Though very few of the species actually attacked humans, there were still those who preyed upon innocent victims. If the Collective didn’t get them first, it was sometimes left to the Watchmen to take them out, under special command of the Consortium—but most often there would be a special extermination unit brought in by that specific race. The main objective of the Watchmen was to act as the Consortium’s eyes and ears.
“So, anyway, about finding you a woman,” Kellan rumbled.
“I’m fine.” Riley’s tone was hard…flat, somehow devoid of the emotion twisting him up inside.
Kellan snorted. “Fine, huh? You know, that’s one F word that I get damn tired of.”
“Yeah, well, here’s another one,” he sighed. “Forget about it. If it gets to the point that I can’t handle it, I’ll figure something out. Until then, I don’t want to talk about it. Understood?”
“Whatever you say, old man,” Kellan drawled, and with a mocking salute, the Watchman turned and headed back the way he’d come.
Riley watched Kellan’s retreating back until he was out of sight, then lifted the shovel and dug up another patch of ground. He supposed he should be thankful that the area Saige had marked for them to search was deep in the forest, where they weren’t drawing the attention of townspeople. And while he was certain the Casus knew he was there, he figured the bastards would just keep watching them for now.
Waiting for him to find the Marker.
To feed.
To awaken.
Riley could hear the hands of the clock ticking down in his mind, slowly working their way toward destruction, and the Marker was the only thing that could stop it.
He had to find the cross. For his family’s sake. For the safety of the town.
But most of all, for Hope.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Monday evening
LEANING HIS SHOULDER against the rough bark of a gnarled, majestic maple, Riley stared through the thickening lavender shades of twilight, watching through the bay window as Hope sat in her liv
ing room. He supposed most would call him a Peeping Tom, or worse. What he was doing could probably even be classified as stalking, but he didn’t give a damn. He needed to be there, standing guard, assuring himself that she was okay.
She’d been sitting and reading for the past half hour, drinking from a mug that sat on the gleaming surface of an end table, the hazy wash of light from the lamp casting a golden glow over her luminous skin. She looked ethereal, surreal. Lush and womanly and warm. A sensual Madonna. The image struck a chord deep inside him, and for a moment Riley could only marvel at the fact that she’d never had any children. But then that probably had more to do with her bastard ex. He was positive Hope would have wanted a baby, and a wrenching image of what could have been—of her swollen and round with his child—flashed through his mind, bringing a searing pain to his chest. Hissing through his teeth, he pressed one hand against the bizarre ache and breathed through the piercing sensation, wondering what in God’s name was wrong with him.
Get a grip, Buchanan. You’re slipping off the deep end.
True, but no matter how wrong it was, there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it. He felt dirty watching her, as if she could be tainted by his mere presence. And yet he couldn’t just walk away. He could sit and make useless, lame-ass excuses until the end of time, claiming that he needed to stand there and watch over her…guard her, but the hardcore truth was that he couldn’t stay away from her.
Despite how badly it hurt, he was stuck there, subjecting himself to this internal hell. Watching her like this was perverse. Insane. Like jabbing a needle under his fingernail again and again. Pouring acid into a raw wound. Self-inflicted torture that he couldn’t protect against, simply because this was Hope. She was his ultimate weakness. Forbidden temptation that would drive him beyond reason in his final days of life, before it all came to a crashing, resounding end.
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