Edge of Desire

by Rhyannon Byrd

  “What’s going on?” he asked, the strange prickle at the back of his neck growing worse, creeping him out.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” she burst out, the husky words tumbling over themselves in her rush. “But I need you to come up to the house, Ri. Please. As soon as you can.”

  “I’m already on my way,” he told her, hating the ragged edge of fear he could hear in her voice. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but…just hurry. I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”

  Seconds later, the house came into view, and he could see that Hope was waiting for him on the back porch. The instant she saw him, she started running, launching herself into his arms. Riley caught her against his chest, shaken by the feeling of how right she felt there as she clutched onto him, burying her face against his shoulder. He could feel her shuddering, though there were no tears on her cold cheeks. Her breath was coming in short, painful gasps, and he steeled himself as he said, “What is it, honey? What happened?”

  Shivering, she shifted in his hold until she could look into his face, her luminous eyes shadowed by worry. “He went after Hal,” she said unsteadily. “His niece just came by to pick up Millie on her way to the hospital up in Wellsford. He’s in emergency surgery. They’re saying that it was some kind of…of animal attack. He would have been killed, but some kids who were walking past his house heard him screaming and called the police. I guess he’s lost so much blood, they don’t even know if he’s going to make it.”

  Cursing under his breath, Riley ran his hands down her back, over her shoulders, stroking the thick, silken weight of her hair, just to assure himself that she was safe and unharmed. He knew it had to have been Gregory who made the attack, just as he knew that the Casus had purposefully picked Hal Erickson because of his association with Hope’s family.

  “I want to go up and see Millie at the hospital,” she said, staring up at him. For the moment, the endless rain had eased up and the stars had burned their way back into the early autumn skies, the tiny shimmering lights reflected in the burnished depths of her eyes. “Will you go with me, Riley?”

  “God, Hope. Of course I will,” he replied in a heavy voice, pulling out his phone to call Kellan, asking him to meet them there. After Hope gave the Watchman directions, she ran inside to get her car keys, since Kellan still had Riley’s truck. They left immediately for the hospital, and made the trip in good time, the respite from the rain making it easier to navigate the highways. Hoping to avoid Millie’s wrath, Riley waited out in the hall, talking with Kellan, who arrived not long after them, while Hope went in to see her aunt. Hal’s niece had apparently known, like Hope, that there was more than just a friendship brewing between Millie and her uncle, and had arranged for Millie to be allowed into the private family waiting room.

  Standing beneath the harsh fluorescent lights that ran the length of the ceiling, Riley got Kellan to agree to stay and keep an eye on things at the hospital until Millie was ready to leave, so that he could go ahead and get Hope back home. She finally came back out a half hour later, looking tense with worry, and thanked Kellan for staying to look after her aunt. Hal, she said, had come out of surgery okay, but was expected to be in recovery for a while. Riley shared a meaningful look with Kellan, and he knew they were both wondering what Erickson would remember from his attack, and what he would be willing to admit to the police.

  Just as they were leaving, Millie caught up with them near the exit, running up and grabbing hold of his arm. Expecting her to slap him—or worse—Riley tensed, ready for the blow. But she simply stared up at him, her gray eyes red-rimmed and swollen as she pulled him away from Hope, obviously wanting to speak to him privately. “I don’t blame you,” she said in a low voice. “So you just get that gutted look off your face, young man. I saw that monster for myself and I know there’s no explanation for evil like that. I should have warned Hal, but I…I just didn’t think. Didn’t realize…” She cleared her throat, then firmly said, “I want you to do something for me, Riley.”

  He nodded, expecting her to tell him that she wanted revenge. Gregory’s blood. The bastard’s head on a stick, which he would have been only too willing to give her. But she asked for none of those things. Instead, she said, “Take care of yourself. I know you’ll take care of Hope, so I won’t even ask. But it will kill her if anything happens to you. She’s already lost too much in this world. So you just make sure that you watch out for yourself.”

  She turned and walked away then, and Riley made his way back to Hope, heading out with her to the car, while running his mind over everything that had happened. He offered to drive again, and after they were both settled in the car, he reached out, pushing her hair back from her face, studying her with a worried frown.

  Riley knew that no matter how he looked at it, the truth couldn’t be denied. He was a curse creeping over this family. These lives. He was already wreaking destruction, and the true nightmare hadn’t even started. This was just the preshow, giving them all a taste of what was to come. And he would end up bringing them all down with him.

  There were so many things he needed to say to her, but all that would come out was a gruff, quiet “I’m sorry.”

  Heat flared in her eyes, burning away the fear that had shadowed her gaze since walking out of the waiting room. “Don’t you dare apologize. It’s not your fault that Marker is buried on our land. You didn’t put it there. And you’re not the one who hurt Hal.”

  “But it’s my fault that bastard’s fixated on you,” he argued. “Our past…the present. Maybe you should be thankful this happened now, before you let this thing between us go any further.”

  She stared back at him in disbelief. “So because of what happened to Hal, I’m supposed to be glad that you’ve only had sex with me once? What does that mean, Riley?”

  He would have smiled at her spark of temper, if he wasn’t so wound up inside, sick with worry. “It means that if you’re smart, you’ll cut your losses while you still can and get the hell out of here, Hope.”

  “Well, I won’t,” she snapped, bristling with anger and frustration. “I’m not running. I’m not going to let that monster scare me away from my home.”

  Wondering what the hell he had to do to get through to her, Riley tore his gaze from hers and stared out the front windshield. “Gregory’s only going to keep at it,” he said in a low voice, bracing his left elbow on the door as he rubbed his fingers against the pulsing pain in his forehead, the mother of all headaches knocking around in his skull. “And eventually the others will make their moves. The Collective. Westmore. The danger is only going to get worse, Hope. I just…” He blew out a rough breath, struggling for the words. “I just wish I hadn’t brought all this shit down on you. That I’d never even started looking for that goddamn Marker.”

  “Instead of blaming yourself,” she said softly, “have you ever considered the fact that maybe you were meant to come back into my life, Ri?”

  He snorted, shaking his head. “To do what? Screw it up?”

  “No. To save me. Think about it. Even if you toss the issue of the Marker aside, what would Neal have done if you weren’t here? How far would he have gone?”

  He cut her a dark look, not knowing what to say.

  “In a way, you’ve been like my knight in shining armor,” she told him with a small, teasing smile. “So stop blaming yourself already.”

  “I only do it because I am the one to blame,” he persisted. “You need to get that through your head, Hope. I should have known, after Capshaw, that Gregory might try something like this. Should have had Millie warn Hal, but my goddamn head isn’t working. I’m not even thinking straight anymore.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel better, we can keep arguing about who’s to blame later,” she said with a tired sigh, pulling on her seat belt. “Right now, I’d just like to get back home.”

  They made the drive back to Purity in silence, the sound of the windshield wipers and the light rain that h
ad started to fall the only sounds within the cozy confines of the car. As they pulled into the parking lot on the side of the house, Riley turned off the engine, while Hope’s words kept playing through his mind, pushing him…tempting him to do the unforgivable. To actually believe that there was something positive in his being there. Was it possible that she was right? That in some weird, mystical way, he’d been meant to come back into her life? How else did you explain it? The way they’d been pulled back together? There was no logical explanation. No sound reason. There were forces at work that he didn’t understand. Ones you couldn’t see or touch or feel. Ones you simply had to accept, and take the miracle when it was offered.

  And as corny as it sounded to his bitter psyche, that was what she was. His miracle. His glimpse of heaven before he slipped into hell. He was so tired of fighting it. He just…He couldn’t keep waging the battle. It had worn him down…left him too wanting, too needy. Hope wanted him, though God only knew why, and as they sat there in the quiet car, Riley finally accepted the fact that he was going to play the bastard and take her. For one night, he was going to shut out the rest of the world and take everything that he’d ever wanted from her. And then he’d suck it up and do what was right. Do whatever was necessary to give Hope her life back. One without danger and evil and fear.

  Which meant that he needed that bloody Marker. Tomorrow, he would tear up the entire goddamn forest if he had to, rain or no rain, and find the cross. No more putting it off…no more waiting. And then, even if he didn’t find it, he’d face Gregory…and make sure that Kellan got Hope out of town, whether she wanted to go or not. He hated doing that to her, but until they knew for sure that the Marker wasn’t on her property, he couldn’t take the chance of leaving her behind to deal with the monsters on her own. The Casus and Westmore and the Collective. Everyone who wanted to get their hands on the prize…and who would make her life a living hell because of it.

  Clearing his throat, Riley finally broke the breath-filled silence. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay by yourself, Hope. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to move my things into the house.”

  She turned her head to look at him in the shadowed darkness, a teasing light glittering in her eyes as she smiled and said, “In that case, I might as well go ahead and warn you now, Ri. You stay, I expect you to put out.”

  A harsh, gritty laugh jerked out of his chest, scraping his throat. “Is that right?” he asked, the corner of his mouth almost twitching into a full-fledged grin. The first one in what felt like forever—and it was as if that easy gesture unlocked something inside him. Some hidden, secret place that he hadn’t had access to for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like. It allowed a tiny spark of happiness to shine through. One that he was going to hold on to through the long hours of the night, until tomorrow came, and he had to snuff it out.

  Her cheeks were warm with an endearing flush of color, but she didn’t back down as she held his stare. “I mean it, Riley.”

  He knew he was tempting fate, but he was too damn tired to care anymore. After everything that had happened that day, he just wanted to be with her someplace where they could tune out the world, the chaos, for a night. Just one goddamn bloody night, and have it all to themselves.

  “If I’m gonna put out,” he drawled, “then I want you upstairs this time. In your bed.”

  “You’ll get no arguments from me,” she quickly replied, the excitement in those breathless words melting him down, making him want to hold her…cherish her. Shower her with the things that she’d always deserved, but had never been given.

  His grin faded and he reached across the space between them, cupping her jaw as he rubbed his thumb into the corner of her mouth. “I barely held myself together this morning,” he admitted in a husky rasp, fascinated by the lush, petallike softness of her lips. “I won’t be able to control it this time.”

  Her mouth moved beneath his touch, curving into a sensual smile. “I’m not asking you to control anything, Ri. Whatever you’re willing to give me, I’ll take.”

  “Hope, about this morning…”

  She rushed to cut him off, whispering, “You don’t have to say any—”

  “I shouldn’t have just walked out on you,” he grunted. “It was a dickhead thing to do and I’m sorry.”

  “You can make it up to me when we get upstairs,” she said over her shoulder, already climbing out of the car.

  Following behind her, Riley kept his silence until she’d unlocked the back door, and they were standing in the shadowed living room, the rain pattering softly against the windows. He drew in a deep breath of her warm, mouthwatering scent, and then moved up behind her as she hung her jacket over the banister of the staircase. Curving his hands around her shoulders, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of her jaw, loving the soft, whispery sigh that she made. He didn’t want to pop the bubble that surrounded them…the easy camaraderie they’d shared in the car after the chaos of the day, but he had to be honest with her…at least about this. Had to make sure that she understood exactly what was going to happen.

  “I’ll take your blood this time,” he warned her, putting the dark, graveled words into the curve of her throat. He touched his tongue to the sensitive flesh, and she gave a soft, trembling moan, as if the thought excited her as much as it did him. “I won’t be able to stop it. To fight it back.”

  “I KNOW.” HOPE’S VOICE was soft…thick. “I don’t want you to fight anything.”

  He released his hold on her then, following behind her as she made her way up the stairs. It felt like a ceremonial rite, leading him to her bedroom in the heavy, breath-filled silence, as if the moment were rich with meaning. One that Hope realized had been such a long time coming, after years of hunger and pain and grief. Of longing and aching.

  When they reached her bedroom, he locked the door behind him, resetting the sensors that Kellan had installed while she made her way to the side of the four-poster bed, flicking the lamp onto its lowest setting. Only a soft, hazy glow of light spilled across the snowy expanse of linens, not even reaching into the shadowed corners. It was a sensual, seductive setting, and she could hardly control the tremors of excitement prickling beneath her skin, wanting nothing more than to launch herself at him, taking him to the floor.

  He stared at her from across the room, his eyes dark…intense, as if he were imprinting the moment on his brain, and then he came toward her, moving with a purely male, predatory purpose. When he reached her, he took her face in his rough, callused hands, and then he kissed her. Covered her lips with the rich, delicious heat of his mouth, and she melted…shivering, wanting so much, so badly, it felt as if the need was going to shatter her into a million pieces. Burst out of her in a bright, blinding light of pleasure. Pulling his soft linen shirt from his jeans, Hope attacked the endless row of buttons, undoing them with shaky, trembling fingers while he threaded his hands through her hair, holding her still for the hot, devastating demands of his mouth. When she finished with the last button, he broke the kiss and stepped back, pulling off the jacket and holster, placing them on the antique chest that sat against the wall.

  “Oh, God, wait,” she whispered, holding up her hands for him to stop when he started to move toward her again. “Don’t move, okay? Just stand there for a minute and let me look at you.”

  A low, embarrassed rumble of laughter vibrated in his chest, but he stood still, hands hanging loose at his sides, and let her look her fill. She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth, thinking he was just too freaking good to be real. The pose could have been made into a poster that sold millions, it was so gorgeous and rugged and male. She loved the way that the snowy white shirt hung open over his mouthwatering chest. Like a purely masculine work of art, it was sculpted with hard, flat muscles, his nipples small and dark against the golden beauty of his skin. And those abs. God, the man was nothing but stark lines and raw, harnessed power just waiting to be unleashed. Tall and broad and perfectly proportioned. S
he loved the dark, silky trail of hair that arrowed down from his navel, into the low-hanging jeans. Loved the hard, heavy bulge of his cock beneath the worn denim. Loved the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the veins beneath his golden skin snaking up the strong muscle and sinew of forearms revealed by the rolled-up cuffs on his sleeves.

  Unable to wait any longer, wanting to see all of that hard body in the raw, Hope moved forward and pushed the shirt off his broad shoulders, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of the black, swirling tattoos that covered his left bicep and shoulder. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered, touching the intricate pattern with her fingertips, before lifting her gaze, falling into the searing heat of his stare. “You’re beautiful.”

  He groaned, the low, graveled sound somehow tortured, and then he was against her, all over her, pulling off the sweater she wore over a champagne-colored camisole, opening her jeans…pushing them down her legs so that she could kick them away.

  “Do you want this off?” she asked, plucking at the clingy camisole, unable to ignore the niggling thread of suspicion that told her he’d left her in that particle item of clothing on purpose.

  He shook his head, his dark gaze sliding away, and her stomach cramped. Though there were several pale, jagged lines on her arms and legs, the worst of her scars were the ones on her torso. The ones he’d left covered. “I get that I’m not perfect,” she whispered, hating the tremor of insecurity in the soft words, knowing he could hear it, too. “If you want, we can just turn out the light.”

  “CHRIST, IT’S NOT THAT,” Riley breathed out, catching her face in his hands as he stared into the glistening depths of her eyes. Other than that one time in the kitchen when he’d touched her stomach, he’d purposefully avoided her scars, knowing that they would fire his rage…his fury, the powerful emotions simply channeling back to the Merrick, when he’d been trying so hard to keep it under control. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to touch the jagged scars in the ways that he wanted. Pressing his lips to them. Trying to heal them with his…