Arran MacLain is a vampire on a suicide mission, driven to kill his former partner who betrayed him and the Enclave they served. But two things stand in his way: Gabrielle, the human female who holds his heart, and the past that won’t let him go. If only death was enough to cleanse his soul.
Gabrielle Steven’s sister is missing. Her hunt for clues brings her face to face with the one vampire she can’t forget. Their missions combine and thrust them into the heart of evil. Will their passion be enough to overcome the pain from their past, or will their dark desires destroy them both?
Information:
Title: Undying Embrace (A Novel of the Enclave)
Author: Jessica Lee
Genre: Paranormal
Length: 240 pages
Release Date: October 2013
ISBN: 978-1-62266-114-5
Imprint: Entangled Edge
Excerpt:
© 2013 Jessica Lee
Chapter One
Fairfield, South Carolina
“You look like you could use some company, darling.”
The syrupy drawl of the female’s voice dragged Arran MacLain’s attention from the beer he nursed. Damn, he’d chosen the darkest and most isolated table in the bar for a reason. To drink alone. Despite the fact the bitter shit did little to numb his brain, no matter how hard or how often he tried to drown the gray matter in it.
Without an invitation, the buxom brunette maneuvered herself onto the seat beside him. Every muscle tensed, including the grip he had around the thick neck of his beer bottle. Tobacco, mixed with the minty remnants of chewing gum, assaulted his nostrils. He jerked his head away from the offensive odor and studied the label on his Heineken. Maybe she would get the hint.
“My name’s Star.”
Maybe not.
“Whatcha doing all the way back here by yourself, handsome? Hiding away from the world?”
He swung his head around, intending to inform her to find someone else to hit on when the light, reflecting off the bold highlights in her hair, jammed the words in his throat.
Shit. For a moment, the color had reminded him of the woman whose face was a permanent fixture in his head every time he closed his eyes.
Star leaned in. “You and I could have a real good time,” she whispered in his ear. “I betcha I could put a smile on those gorgeous lips. I’m told I’m the best.”
Arran squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard. He should get rid of her. He didn’t have time to fulfill those needs. At least that was what he had tried to tell himself. The real problem was that no one ever fulfilled his needs. Not in the two years since that night when he’d held Gabrielle in his arms. The night he’d tasted her lips for the first time . . . the sweet scent of honeysuckle from her hair had invaded his mind, leaving him forever marked. The memory of that evening unfurled once more inside his head—vivid, bold—as if it had only been days, not years.
He was inside the former Enclave mansion during the DEAD invasion, battling one of the bloodsuckers. DEADs or Death Euphoria Addicts, were the sick vampires who got their rocks off by draining their human victims dry. DEADs were merciless and it had been the Enclave’s job to curtail their activities.
Tapping his earpiece, he checked in with Gabrielle, who was monitoring the mansion’s surveillance. “Gabrielle, status update.” Moments passed in silence on the other end of the comm unit. “Gabrielle, come in. Status update.” A sick feeling took root in his gut. Spinning on his heels, he hauled ass in her direction.
Two strides into the hallway, a crash ricocheted off the walls coming from the security office. Less than a heartbeat later, he entered the room.
Gabrielle’s broken chair lay shattered behind a DEAD who held her against the wall.
“Well, well,” the bastard slurred. “Lookit the prize I found. Baby, you gonna be so sweet.”
The DEAD reached for her face. Arran snatched his hand before he connected with her flesh. He wrenched the vampire’s arm. A loud pop of bone surrendering under extreme pressure filled the small confines of the room. Nice. A scream tore from the bloodsucker’s throat as he was pulled away from his victim. The Enclave warrior held on and matched the DEAD’s movements until he found the perfect angle to sink his blade into the DEAD’s chest.
Before the smoking body hit the floor, Arran crouched by Gabrielle’s trembling frame. She flung herself at him, knocking him to his knees. The sudden warmth of her body shattered him. Her full breasts had pressed into his chest, and the honeysuckle scent of her hair had filled his nostrils, setting his body on fire.
Gabrielle leaned her head back. Sparkling amber eyes had met his from under a thick fan of dark lashes. Her pupils dilated, darkening her gaze. His ability to draw a breath wilted into nonexistence.
Before he knew it, his fingers were tangled deep in her hair. The silky feel of her tresses against his skin had echoed like strokes along the ridge of his cock, bringing him to an immediate throbbing erection.
The pink tip of her tongue had darted out, and she had licked the top and bottom of her lips. One simple act, and it had fried what minuscule control remained.
Gabrielle sealed her lips with Arran’s before he’d realized either of them had even moved. He wanted to savor every second. But the moment her sweet lips touched his, he devoured her.
She fractured his mind, his sanity.
Her tongue battled with his for dominance, as crazed as he for a taste.
But . . . even though he had never thought fate, for any reason, would bring Gabrielle into his arms, the baggage they both carried was an insurmountable mountain of shit they could never climb over. And his personal collection was not something he wanted Gabrielle to pry open. She was reason one why he’d left and his ass sat in a bar a couple of hundred miles away from the Enclave’s headquarters. Reason number two: his former partner, Markus. The vampire who’d betrayed them all with the Master of the Enclave’s psychotic sire, Marguerite. He should’ve detected sooner that something was off before Markus had ordered Marguerite’s DEADs to overrun the mansion. He’d known the male had been having headaches and not acting like himself. It had been right there in front of his damn face. The other warrior had not only been his partner, but the closest thing to a friend he’d ever had. What a fool he’d been not to see the obvious changes in him before Markus had nearly destroyed the Enclave. Now it was Arran’s job to find him and make things right. And, when he found the bastard it would be a bitch. Killing a friend couldn’t be described any other way.
“Hey…?” The prostitute yanked him back into the present. “Did you hear what I said?”
Reaching up, he buried his fist in her hair and stared at the strands of brown and dyed gold. Her glassy eyes met his for a moment with a drunken half smile on her lips. “Fifty bucks.” She pushed back, then stopped. “On second thought.” She wrapped her fingers around a loose strand of his own hair and tucked it behind his ear. “Make that forty. I have a thing for hot blond guys.” Her fingertips brushed his flesh, the contact gentle, yet it scraped across his nerve endings.
Wrong.
A growl emanated from his chest.
She jerked, her eyes widening. “What the hell was that?”
This was not going to work. Who the hell was he trying to kid? No other woman’s touch was ever going to feel right, not when Gabrielle owned a piece of his soul. He opened his mouth, intending to spit out some sort of lame excuse. Instead, he cupped her cheek.
“What are you doing?” Star grabbed his fingers.
“You need to go.” The command rumbled deep from within his chest.
“Who the hell do you think you are, giving me orders?” She glanced up into his eyes and froze, dropping her hand back to her side. The sight of his blackened eyes had the desired effect.
“It’s time to for you to leave, Star. Very quietly. You’ve made a few bucks, but you can’t remember who or what the john looked like.” Arran slipped a fifty from his wallet and stuffed it between her breasts, pushed high from the tight red corset. This was the easiest and safest course of action. He didn’t need her making a scene.
Dazed, she nodded, then blinked rapidly before fixing him with a stare. “Who the hell are you?” She tilted her head and studied him for a moment. With a shrug of her shoulders and a shake of her head, she turned and exited the booth without a word. Good girl.
“Damn,” he groaned, grabbed his bottle of brew, and extracted himself from the table. Instead of following her toward the front of the bar, he pivoted, choosing the back door to slip away.
A single streetlight lit the back alley with a dull yellow glow. Loose, wet gravel crunched under his boots as he passed a Dumpster enclosure positioned a few feet from the back entrance. The smell of rotting garbage permeated his senses.
Pausing, he turned and leaned his shoulders against the wooden frame, allowing his head to fall back against the hard surface. “Gabrielle Stevens,” he whispered and closed his eyes. “How am I supposed to get you out of my mind?”
A scream pierced the alley, jerking him back into the here and now. His focus, his senses, narrowed toward that singular sound. It pierced his eardrums, and a one-of-a-kind smell registered in his brain. DEADs. Even though he was now solo, he continued what he’d started with his fellow warriors, ridding the world of the rabid bloodsuckers one DEAD at a time.
“Motherfucker,” Arran mumbled.
In one swift move, he leaped to the top of the closed half of the Dumpster. A banged-up Crown Victoria sat between him and three DEADs crowding a woman against a brick wall. No, make that two DEADs. One of them wasn’t showing the signs of the nasty addiction. A tall, skinny male, his jet-black hair spiked on top of his head, hung back from the rest, shifting on twitchy feet. Watching, nervously wiping his hands on his pants. He appeared new to the game. Too new.
Arran stepped back and then launched himself into the air, clearing the large car before landing on his heels behind the vampires.
All heads swung around. “Who the fuck are you?” The tallest of the group, his shaggy dark hair hanging down in a greasy clump, stepped forward and pulled a blade.
“Help me. Please, help me.”
Arran glanced at the sobbing female guarded by the other DEAD. Wearing a sparkling sleeveless tank top and shorts, she appeared to be a college student who’d picked the wrong night to party. Black streaks of makeup ran down her face. “Please, don’t let them kill me.” She wept uncontrollably and gasped for air, on the verge of hyperventilation.
“Shut up, bitch!” Shaggy hissed. The woman screamed and went limp, collapsing onto the pavement.
Arran returned his attention to the filthy bastard before him with the big knife. “Nice blade.” He reached down, without taking his eyes off his mark, and pulled a dagger from each boot. “I’ve got two of my own.” The DEAD curled his lip and released a slow hiss.
“So, who wants to go first?” Arran lifted a brow, looking from one vampire to the other, and he opened his arms. In each palm, he clutched the hilt of a custom six-inch, silver-plated dagger. The blades curved gently toward the tip, the last three inches serrated. Oh yeah, they were sweet.
The DEADs growled in retort. The goth-looking newbie with spiked hair edged even farther away, taking a stance behind the redheaded vampire who guarded the woman. Spike looked shaky, scared. And hungry. If Arran had to guess, he couldn’t be more than a few weeks out of transformation.
Shaggy tossed his weapon from hand to hand. “You didn’t answer me, asshole. Who the hell are you?”
Arran grinned wide, displaying his own set of fangs. “The one who’s going to kill you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he didn’t miss the other DEAD pulling a switchblade from his back pocket.
“What’s it to you who we kill?” Shaggy eased backward, his upper lip curled like a rabid dog in his attempt to appear menacing. He was going for the woman. Arran had seen this maneuver too many times; Shaggy planned to use her as a shield. A coward and a murderer.
“You’re one of us, brother. Come on.” The DEAD jerked his chin in the direction of their victim. “Join us.” Shaggy crouched beside her and reached for her face. His grimy fingers gripped her chin.
Arran exploded. With his blades crisscrossed, he landed at the vampire’s feet. Before the DEAD could so much as gasp in surprise, he swung his arms wide, cleaving Shaggy’s head from his shoulders.
A roar sounded from behind him. Arran whirled in time to catch a blur of red hair before it slammed into his chest, knocking him off his feet. A burning sensation flashed across his midsection and sternum. The air punched from his lungs as his back impacted the street, sending one of his daggers flying out of his hand. Locked in battle, the vampires skidded across the wet road, concrete chewing at his T-shirt and eating at his exposed flesh.
Rearing his arm back with his palm up, Arran drove the heel of his hand into the vampire’s face. Red howled. Blood sprayed from his nose like a macabre Halloween fountain. Crimson droplets splattered across his chest as the DEAD toppled over, clutching his busted nose.
He palmed the smooth surface of the remaining dagger’s hilt and rocked to his feet. A wave of dizziness assaulted him. “Shit!” He staggered. The bumper of the old sedan caught the back of his thighs, preventing him from falling flat on his ass. Hot, sticky liquid saturated the waistband of his jeans. He glanced down. The front of his T-shirt lay open, revealing a gash that zigzagged across his chest and down to his navel.
“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled. The bastard had cut him. Sucking in a deep breath and fisting his blade tighter in his grip, he shoved away from the car and scanned the area, sizing up what remained of his battle. The other young vamp was making like a statue against the wall. He hadn’t run. Fool. But he hadn’t engaged in the fight either. Wise.
He narrowed his gaze on the redheaded vampire pushing himself up from the concrete, the need for blood drumming inside his ears. It had been days since he’d last fed, and the metallic scent rode the air in a heady musk. Bloodlust seized his gut and stroked his mind like a lover.
With his prey targeted, he closed in like an assassin. He glided without a sound across the pavement, waiting for the perfect moment. The DEAD, sensing his imminent demise, scurried across the pavement and grabbed the dagger.
Arran struck.
The DEAD struggled for air as his windpipe was placed in a chokehold. Arran lifted Red off his feet, dangling him like a rag doll. Spastic arms and flailing legs swung as the DEAD weakly attempted to jab Arran with the blade. Giving his arm a swing, he tossed the pathetic vampire to the wall. His back and head collided against the brick with a hard smack, sending the vamp into a dazed state and knocking the dagger from his grip.
Before Red could regain his bearings, Arran was in his face. “You wanted to play?” He shoved his palm into the DEAD’s chest, holding him immobile. With his other hand, he slid the blade he carried into his own waistband before he gripped Red’s head and jerked it to the side. The DEAD’s jugular lifted, engorged by his frantic heart rate. Arran’s fangs ached with anticipation, his own pulse a wicked hum in his head. Red squirmed and whimpered under his grip. “What’s the matter?” He leaned into Red’s ear. “Isn’t this what you intended to do to the woman?”
“Fuck you!” The DEAD strained against his hold. “If you’re going to kill me, do it already.”
“Oh, I intend to kill you.” Arran shoved the side of Red’s face hard against the rough surface of the brick. His gaze darted to the vampire who still stood with his back plastered to the brick wall of the building, his eyes wide, his mouth hung like an open barn door. The look on his face said he had no intention of intervening on his buddy’s behalf. Smart move. That was precisely where he needed to stay. His prey hissed a curse. Arran refocused on the situation at hand. “But first, you owe me one.” He flung his head back, unveiling his fangs, then stabbed them into the DEAD’s vein. The strike wasn’t pretty or gentle. It wasn’t meant to be. A DEAD was hardly his meal of choice. But this was more about payback than dining preference.
Hot blood poured into his mouth. His heart raced as more adrenaline spilled into his veins. He swallowed hard and released a satisfied groan. Hunger was a living beast inside him. And she demanded to be fed.
He drank until his beast calmed, and the drumbeat of need quieted in his head. Arran jerked his head away from the vampire’s vein, determined to only satisfy his hunger, not to kill. Not like this. Plus he had no intention of draining the guy and running the risk of dosing his veins with traces of Death Euphoria. Stepping back, he freed his hold on Red’s neck and chest. The DEAD slid down the wall, stopping when his rear bumped the pavement.
The half-drained vampire lifted his eyelids, and his over-dilated pupils rolled up into his head, exposing a rim of white beneath. A thin rivulet of blood oozed down his neck and seeped into the black cotton of his shirt. “Why…?” Red began, gasping for mouthfuls of air between his words. “. . . didn’t you… kill me.”
Arran lifted his dagger from his waistband and crouched before him, shifting the blade’s weight in his palms until it was just right. Leaning in, he whispered, “Who said I was finished?” He sank the silver blade into the DEAD’s heart. A gurgling cry ripped from Red’s throat as his back arched, and then he collapsed against the brick, the lethal dose of silver already eating away at his tissues. Smoke that reeked of decay consumed the DEAD’s body in the time it took to grab his other blade. As he knelt to check on the human woman, Red’s body imploded, leaving nothing behind but ash to scatter in the humid wind.
The woman’s pulse beat steady under his fingertips. She appeared unharmed in her unconscious state, slumped beside an array of empty cardboard boxes. Standing, he turned on his heels in the direction of the old sedan.
“I haven’t forgotten about you, Spike. I’ve lived too many years not to know that you’re crouched behind the rear of that car, about to shit your pants.” He took two steps and leaped into the air. His boots struck the sedan in a thump and groan of aluminum. The trunk buckled under the burden of his two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and bone. He dropped to one knee and peered over the edge. The skinny kid sat trembling exactly where he knew he would be. Spike scuttled back on all fours, fear blazing in dark eyes that were much too large for his gaunt face.
“Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!” His back rammed into the Dumpster’s enclosure. Realizing he’d pinned himself in, Spike twisted and began a frantic attempt to climb the fencing.
Arran dropped from the car at Spike’s feet. He grabbed at the newbie’s floundering legs as the kid dug for purchase on the rattling cage. “Get down from there, Spike. I’m not going to kill you.”
“Let me go!” Spike kicked back at the hold on his calves. “Let me go!”
“Are you listening? I said I’m not going to kill you.”
The kid glanced back over his shoulder. Panic had driven what blood remained from his face, making his skin appear even starker next to his jet-black hair. “You’re not shittin’ me, are you? You’re not gonna kill me?”
“I’m not going to kill you.” The skinny kid was too new and showed no signs of Death Euphoria Addiction. “But if you don’t get down right now, I might.”
Spike let go. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he spun and pressed his back against the enclosure. “Whatcha gonna do to me?”
Arran wasn’t quite sure what the hell to do with the kid. He leaned in, bracing one arm beside Spike’s head. “What’s your name?”
The kid gulped, then opened his mouth. “David.”
“Was this your first time out with those two?” He motioned with a tilt of his head at the ashes of the DEADs behind him.
“Yea—Yeah.” David’s head bounced in a frenzy of nods.
“How long ago were you turned?”
“I…I think a week, maybe two. This…this is my first time out hunting.” David glanced to the arm wedging him in at his left and the brick to his right. “Please,” he whispered. “I’ll do whatever you want, but I have… I need it. I’m so hungry.” He wrapped his arms around his gut, and his body shook. The next moment, he reached out, grasped the button on Arran’s jeans with one hand, and slid the other down the front.
Jerking his hips back, he knocked the kid’s hands away. “What the fuck? I don’t need you to suck me off!”
“I…I just thought—like the others, it’s what you wanted.” David’s voice trailed off to a whisper, and he dropped his gaze.
Christ. What had they done to him? “I don’t get off by forcing others to fuck me.” David lifted his gaze back to Arran’s, looking surprised that he wasn’t going to have to service him. Sick bastards. They’d really messed with his head. “Why didn’t you run when I was fighting those two?”
“I started to. I was stupid, I guess.” He shook his head and shrugged. “But I’d never seen anyone like you before. The way you took them on… For real, man.” David locked him with an awestruck look of wonder. “Like you ain’t afraid to die or something.”
Arran opened his mouth but didn’t know where to start. David was dead-on. He didn’t give a shit if he lived or died. Unbidden, the memory of Gabrielle’s kiss and the taste of her lips flooded his mouth again. She was the only thing in his life that had given him a purpose to rise each night, but he’d left her. He rocked on his heels; the need to be with her was dizzying. Two years, but all it took was one simple thought to unleash his dark desire.
“Wish I didn’t care about breathing or sucking dirt. Things would be a helluva lot easier.” The kid’s tremulous declaration yanked him to the present.
“You’re too young for a death wish, David.” Arran leaned over and slipped his dagger back into his boot. He yanked the rest of his torn and bloodied shirt off as he stood, then tossed it over the fence into the Dumpster. Damn shame. It was one of his favorites. He glanced back at David. Something was wrong. Terror had seized his eyes wide and they were fixed on Arran’s chest.
“Yo, David.” The young vamp didn’t respond. He gripped the kid’s shoulder. “David, what’s wrong with you?”
“What do you want with me?” The words trembled off David’s lips.
“Want with you…?” What was he talking about? “I don’t want anything from you. I only want to stop you before you fall in too deep and kill someone.”
“What are you saying? You’re like him. Why do you talk like that?” His head rocked back and forth. Spike wasn’t making any sense. The boy began to shift on his feet, a rabbit about to bolt.
“Look at me.” A groan, coming off David, filled the space between them. “Look at me, kid.” Grabbing both sides of David’s head, he jerked the kid’s gaze to his. The tremors wracking the boy’s body vibrated up the length of his arms. “Like who? Who are you talking about?”
“Him… Commander Markus. That’s his tat on your chest.”
The answer slammed into Arran with a staggering blow, and he snatched his hands away. The Enclave symbol. He glanced down as if he’d forgotten it. The infinity and dagger tattoo covered his right pec. David knew Markus. Holy shit. He couldn’t believe it. After all these months of searching for that vampire’s sorry ass, this kid knew him.
Regaining his balance, he lunged at David. “Where? How do you know Markus?” David backpedaled into the fence. It rattled in complaint at the force of his body trying to shove it out of the way. God, he was scaring the kid to death. This was going to require a different approach.
Through clenched teeth, he muttered, “I’m not like Markus. You hear me, kid? I’m not Markus.” David’s agitated movements calmed to a mild shuffle. The air continued to saw out of his chest. Hunger mixed with fear worked his lungs overtime.
“I said I wasn’t going to hurt you and I meant it. I’ve been a lot of things to a lot of people—asshole, assassin… You name it, and I’ve probably done it.” He grasped the kid by the back of the neck, and David stiffened. “But when I give my word, I don’t go back on it.” A small portion of the tension under his palm eased. Good. “Now come here. I want to show you how to feed. Without taking a life.”
He placed David beside the young woman who’d been the intended prey for the DEADs. Based on the soft moans and the stir in her limbs, she was coming around. “Feeding doesn’t have to be painful or terrifying for the human.” Arran lifted the woman’s head and began to tap her gently on the cheek. “Wake up,” he called out to her. “Come on, open your eyes. You’re going to be all right. No one’s going to hurt you, lass.” She moaned and rocked her head. After a few seconds, her eyelids fluttered open, and her gaze darted from Arran to David. She cried out, striking at them with her fists and struggling to get away. Arran grabbed her arms. “Shhh, lass. Look at me.” The words, laced with compulsion, quieted her struggle, and her gaze rolled to Arran’s.
“You’re safe. No one here is going to hurt you.” Arran stroked her cheek and slid the hair away from her eyes. He would make sure of it. She’d been through enough trauma. Teaching the kid the proper way to handle his hunger would insure the humans he fed from wouldn’t be harmed or feel any pain other than a prick at the neck. He placed her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze. “Tell me your name.”
She licked her lips and swallowed. “Beverly. Do I know you?” She tilted her head. “You look so familiar.” A shy smile formed on her lips.
“No, you don’t know me. But I’m going to take good care of you.” Giving her hand a tug, he pulled her to her feet. “Come with me, Beverly.”
With Beverly and David following, Arran led them to the Dumpster enclosure and out of view of any possible witnesses. They’d been lucky during the battle that no one had heard the racket or come out to investigate. But it was two in the morning. Most businesses in the area other than the bar were closed, and few people were on the streets. Still, he wasn’t going to take any chances while continuing the new vamp’s lessons.
He kept Beverly calm while David fed, making sure his trainee was aware of his donor’s status and understood when to stop. “You have a clotting agent in your tongue. Always seal the punctures,” he instructed when David had satiated his hunger. “At this point, I’m going to remove her memory of tonight and replace it with something benign or pleasant. I’ll also encourage her to cover the wounds with a scarf or bandage until they disappear and mention that the injury was from a fall. Then we’ll send her home. With practice, as you grow stronger, you’ll be able to do this as well….”
David’s eyes were wide as he watched Arran complete his mental compulsion on Beverly. Maybe he was going to be okay after all–if he could find someone to take him in and get him off the street.
Like a lost puppy, the kid followed him to his black-and-red Ninja parked a block away from the bar. Once there, he unlocked his seat and pulled his cell from the hidden compartment. He dialed a number from memory and turned to David. “I’m calling someone to pick you up.” David gasped. “Don’t freak out. They won’t expect anything in return.” The boy spun around and leaned against the trunk of a nearby oak that was framed on each side by green city parking meters. He nervously swiped a hand through his spiked black hair.
Ted answered on the fourth ring. “Memorial Gardens Crematorium.”
“This is Arran. I need to call in a favor.”
“Arran MacLain,” he drawled. “I’d heard you’d skipped town and left the Enclave. What kind of favor would you be needing from me? You running your own game now?”
“What game I’m running is none of your business.” He leaned against his bike, keeping one eye on David. Nervous energy rolled off the kid in waves. At the moment, he was about as unpredictable as a tiger on a thirty-yard leash. “You owe me, Ted. And I’m collecting.”
Ted chuckled on the other end of the line. “Aw, man. You always were so much fun.” Laughter faded, and he cleared his throat. “What do you want?”
He proceeded to explain David’s unfortunate turning, and how the kid needed someone to take him in and teach him about his new life. “I see…” Ted paused for a moment. “I have just the person in Fairfield that I’m sure can be there within the hour. His name is Jeremiah. He’ll be able to take the kid in and show him the ropes.”
“This Jeremiah…” Arran began, then lowered his voice. “What type of payment or expectations will he have regarding David?”
“Don’t worry. Part of the favor. Jeremiah’s one of the good guys. I’ll take care of what he needs. He won’t expect anything from David.”
“See that you do,” he said, his voice a rumble of warning before he ended the call.
The seat clicked into place, and turning the lock, he secured the cell phone back in the compartment. Shoving his keys back in his pocket, he ambled over to the oak David had planted himself against. A breeze rustled the leaves hanging on the aged tree’s branches, the fragrant scent of wisteria blooms lingering on the warm summer night’s wind. Breathing deep, he shook his head. Such a sweet-smelling contradiction to the putrid evil lurking in the dark.
“I’ve found someone to teach you what you need to know.” David glanced up. “You’ll be safe there. There won’t be any sexual demands.”
“When will they be here?”
“Jeremiah will be here in about an hour. But I do want something from you before I leave.” Arran braced one arm on the bark above David’s head. “Tell me everything you know about Commander Markus, including where I can find him.”
Chapter Two
“Wicked Ways…” Gabrielle Stevens allowed the name of the club to roll off her tongue. This was crazy. What had her sister been doing, hanging out in a club for goths? At least that was the story, according to one of Alexandria’s neighbors. Elle had knocked on every door of anyone Alex had ever mentioned in her e-mails and phone calls. No one had seen her sister for at least three weeks. The only lead left to check out was this club with the sinful name near Fairfield University, where someone had spotted Alex the weekend before she’d disappeared.
Sitting on the edge of her sister’s bed, Elle slid her feet into the new black leather, four-inch-heel boots she’d bought for tonight. So not her normal style. There was way more heel than she was used to, since she was already considered somewhat tall at five eight, but she had to admit they made her feel ultra-sexy. She leaned over and smoothed her hands along the buttery-soft cowhide encasing her calves up to her knees. Man, she did love the feel of nice leather. Elle eased to her feet and tested her balance. Okay, yeah, she could do this. The thin heels tapped against the hardwood floor as she made her way to the oak dresser sitting across from the bed.
The studded leather choker she’d purchased lay stretched across the glass top of the vanity. She trailed her fingers along the tips of the cool spiked metal and glanced into the mirror. With her hair pulled back, the pale jagged scars on the right side of her neck stood in sharp relief against her olive skin. On a slow inhale, she reached up and slid her fingertips over the bumpy surface of the ugly reminder that seven years hadn’t erased. Elle wrapped the wide band around her neck and tied the laces in the back. The width did its job. It left no visible evidence of her past.
The long black wig wasn’t exactly her color, but she had to look the part. She worked the pins into place, making sure it fit tight against her scalp, and tossed her head from side to side. The locks of blue-black hair fell past her shoulders. She stared into the mirror, the fake stud in her nose sparkling in the dresser’s lamplight. Damn, she looked different. The only thing that remained the same was the amber color of her eyes. She tilted her head and studied her reflection. It felt good to be someone else, even if for a little while.
A woman without a history—and a gaping hole in her heart left by a man who hadn’t cared enough to stick around.
“Oh God, Elle.” She threw the tube of blood-red lipstick at the vanity top. It pinged and bounced against the glass. “When are you going to purge Arran from your brain and move on?” Grabbing her ID off the top of the dresser, she whirled around, headed for the door, and added, “And how about you quit talking to yourself like you’re some sort of basket case.”
Forget Arran. Alex needs me and by God, I’m not going to