A Hunger Like No Other (41 page)

The bars were protected, the wall and floor solid cement . . . .

He slowly lifted his head, eyes focused on the ceiling. “I can dig through.”

“Lachlain, I doona think that's wise. This house is centuries old and gets battered as you would no' believe.”

“Doona care.”

“You might care that all three stories are tongue-and-groove construction—one piece falls, it'll be like a domino effect. War, hurricanes, and constant lightning have made it
unsound. I doona think Val Hall can take a Lykae biting through the first floor.”

“Support it while I'm gone.”

“Hold the floor? If I canna, you could be hurting both our mates. This place could come crashing down.”

Lachlain slapped him on the shoulder. “Be sure that you doona drop it.”

Time was running out. He let the beast have its way with the ceiling, slashing through the wood, digging with its claws, and pulled himself up into the cool house.

On his knees on the floor, Lachlain shook himself, struggling for control. Looking back down, he said, “You can handle this?”

“Just doona be too long,” Garreth gritted out. “Oh, and Lachlain?” He was already straining. “Doona kill Wroth, a big black-haired vampire, if you see him about. He's the one who helped Emma with the idea of the blood straight to her veins. One of Kristoff's Forbearers. We owe him for Emma's life.”

Lachlain snapped, “What's Kristoff's goddamned interest in her?”

Garreth shook his head. “No. I think this Wroth did it to have his union with Myst recognized.”

A Valkyrie
unified
with a vampire?

“He seemed a lot saner than they usually do. Now, go!”

Lachlain leapt to his feet. He followed Emma's scent easily, moving through the expansive mansion, and stalked straight to her floor. A red-headed Valkyrie was just leaving Emma's room with a towering male. A vampire. Lachlain's first instinct was to attack him, but he stifled it. That had to be Wroth, the one who'd helped Emma, and her aunt Myst.

Wroth comforted Myst, brushing tears from her face. A
vampire comforting another? Suddenly Wroth's head jerked up; Lachlain flattened himself against the wall. Wroth scanned the area with narrowed eyes then clasped Myst to him to trace them away.

As soon as they'd disappeared, Lachlain raced to Emma's room. Inside, her bed was empty. Of course, she must be under it. He fell to his knees, jerked up the bedding. Not under it. When he glanced around, he saw Nïx standing in the adjoining sitting room with Emma in her arms.

“Nïx, bring her to me. I can heal her.”

She stroked Emma's hair. “But your blood comes with a price. One so young as this dreams of wars she's never seen, feels injuries that would have killed her ten times over.”

He shook his head, not wanting to believe.

“She dreams of fire.” Nïx sighed. “Forever, forever fire.”

Emma appeared frail, her skin and lips pale as snow. Her cheekbones stood out sharply. One look at her, and he was sweating with fear for her.

Nïx leaned down to rub her nose against Emma's. “Emma of the three. And you don't know it yet. Emma of the three hacked him in three. What do you have in your little hand? Darling girl. He's supposed to get
you
a ring.” With effort, Nïx pried the ring from her hand and tossed it to him. He slipped it on without interest. Why the bloody hell wouldn't she give him Emma as easily?

“You gave her the Instinct. It shines like a star in her, radiating. She can see where you marked her as yours.”

Impossible . . . .

“She will never lose it.” Nïx petted her forehead. “She is all of us. Emma of the three.”

“Nïx, what will make you give her to me?”

“What would you do for her?”

His brows drew together at the absurd question.
“Anything,”
he rasped.

She studied him for long moments, then nodded firmly. “You have work to do, Lachlain. Give her new memories to fight the old.”

He held out his hands for her, forgot to breathe . . . until Nïx finally handed her to him. He clutched Emma to his chest, but she didn't wake, and when he glanced up again, Nïx was gone.

Quickly, he crossed to the bed, laying her down. He cut his arm with his battered claws and placed it against her lips.

Nothing.

He sat next to her and shook her. “Goddamn it, Emma, wake up.” She didn't. Her lips parted, and he saw her fangs were dull and small.

He sliced his thumb and worked it between her lips, cupping her head with his other hand. Long moments passed. Then she grew very still, as though even her heart stopped.

She took, just barely. After a moment, she raised her hands to his chest, clutching him. He drew his finger from her, and when she latched on to his arm, he threw his head back, closing his eyes with relief.

Even as she drank, he pulled up her nightgown and the bandages beneath to check her leg and side.
Already healing.

When she'd finished, she blinked open her eyes and threw her arms around his neck, weakly squeezing him.

“Why did you go, Emma? Was it because of what I said about Demestriu?”

“Had to go. Lachlain,” she said, her voice faint, “he's my . . . he
was
my . . .
father.”

“I know. But that does no' explain why you would take that step.”

She pulled back from him. “Nïx told me just before I left for Paris that I was on the verge of doing what I was born to do. I recognized it just as the vampire reached out his hand.” She shivered. “I know it's hard to believe, but I-I killed Demestriu.”

“I saw. I have the whole confrontation on tape. Lucia's going to get it from Bowe as we speak.”

“How'd
you
get it?”

“Ivo had been taping Demestriu. And I took it from Ivo.” At her frown, he added, “When you were in Demestriu's lair, I was already in the castle.”

“You killed Ivo?” she asked in a hopeful tone.

“Oh, aye. With pleasure.”

“Are you angry that you didn't get revenge on Demestriu?”

“I'm angry that you went alone. I understand it was your fate, but doona leave me like that again.” He put his hand behind her head and pressed her to him. Her body had grown so warm and soft.

“How did you find Helvita?”

“I followed you. Emma, I'll always come for you.”

“But how can you be right with me? Knowing who I am?”

He made her face him. “I
know
who you are. I saw everything that occurred, and we have no secrets between us now. And I want you so badly my mind canna comprehend it.”

“But I can't understand this. I was his daughter.”

“Seeing him with you eased some of my rage. I'd thought he gloated every day about what he'd done to me and for taking my father's life and his ring. He scarcely remembered these things, he was so twisted. And the kindness he showed you at the end . . . it meant much to me.”

“But he took so much from you.”

“Lass, he's given to me as well.”

She gave him that shy look. “M-me?”

He nodded. “I dinna go mad after those years of hell, but I was just shy of it when I thought of losing you.”

She whispered, “I saw it, Lachlain. That hell. I know what happened to you.”

He dropped his forehead to hers. “I wish to God . . . I wish you had no'. That kills me inside, knowing I cursed you with that memory.”

“No, I'm glad now that I have it.”

“How can you say that?”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I would
never
want you to go through that alone.”

He gripped her shoulders. Brows drawn, he rasped,
“My God, I love you.”

She gasped. “I love you, too. I wanted to tell you—”

“If you felt the same, then why did you no' come back to Kinevane? To me?”

“Because it was day in Russia.”

Welcome realization hit him. “So it would be day in Scotland.”

“Exactly. It was only my second time ever to trace—the first was just before I went with the vampire—and I didn't trust myself to land perfectly in the sunproofed rooms. I knew it was just after midnight here.”

“I wondered when you'd learned to trace.” His tone low, he admitted, “I thought you'd chosen your aunts over me.”

“No, I was trying to be smart, cold, logical. And besides, I've decided no one's going to force me to choose anyone over anyone.” She wagged her finger at him. “Including you, Lachlain. Not again.”

His lips curled. “You're going to keep me on a short chain, are you no'? Especially now that I know what happens when you get displeased with someone.”

She play-punched his arm, but when her hand met the wet fabric of his coat, her eyes went wide. “You're hurt. Worse than I thought.” She shot to her feet, but he eased her back down.

“Give it time. I'll heal, just as you're doing. Your leg's already better.”

“But let me get a bandage for you.” She looked him over. “Your hands? Your chest? Oh, Lachlain.”

He wasn't ready for her to leave this room, especially not without him. “Doona worry.” He kept her hand in his. “Now that I ken that you love me, I'll hold this over you and make you take care of me.”

She fought a grin and lost.

“So what else do you see?” He coughed into his fist. “In my memories.” This could get tricky.

“They're mostly connected to me,” she said, clearly hedging.

Still tricky. Could she see him when he handled himself while imagining his mouth between her legs? “And . . . ?”

“I see things from the past. And I see you admiring my underwear.” She blushed.

“Can you ken why this would make me uneasy?”

“It makes me so as well! I think I would die if I saw you with another woman.”

“Are you
jealous,
lass?”

“Yes!” she cried, as if she couldn't believe the question. “While you've been running around growling ‘mine,' I've been silently saying it right back at you.”

This got better and better. “I think I like you jealous and
possessive. But I doona like what's available to you in my mind. What more have you seen?”

So she detailed memories of him on a campaign, of him with her in the hotel room, of him admiring her arse, the necklace. Nothing to embarrass him so far. “Have you seen me kill?”

“No.”

“Have you seen me release into my own hand?”

Her eyes went wide. “No, but . . .”

“But what?” When she wouldn't tell him, he nipped her ear. “Tell me.”

With her face buried in his chest, he barely heard her whisper, “I want to.” Her admission sent a spike of heat through him.

“Do you, then?” His voice had gone husky. As she nodded against him, he realized that though he was injured—had been feeling damn near dead—she could stir him to life. “You've only to tell me what you want.”

“But I
don't
want to see certain things. Like you . . . with another woman.”

“Now, this I am no' concerned with. You take my memories, and none before you were memorable in the least.”

“I don't know . . . .”

“I do. Every event you described was pivotal to my thinking of you.
I
remember all of them clearly, even over so much time.” When she frowned, he explained, “I think you wake up too soon. That day by the stream, I grieved for no' having you, but afterward I swore to myself that nothing would stop me from finding you. I vowed that I would no' wait for you—I would seek you to the ends of the earth. And in the hotel when we were together, I promised myself I would do whatever it took to claim you, go to any lengths,
even if they were no' honorable. I realized that night that you can make me craven for you.”

“A-and the others?”

“The necklace? That entire journey home I slept with it in my hand, renewed in my belief that I'd see you wear it one day. And the night I stared at your arse—and you do have an arse I will be thinking of often—I joined you in the shower. When I took you under the water, you whispered in my ear that you dinna think you could live without me.”

“I did?” she breathed.

“Oh, aye, and I thought that I'd give anything to hear it again. So rest easy on that score, love. I think this is like mind reading, and a lot of couples I know do that.” He frowned. “Though those are usually reciprocal. Will you share things with me as though I had this talent? To keep no more secrets between us.”

“No more secrets, Lachlain.”

“And we set about getting past my . . .
our
memories?”

She nodded eagerly. “We will—”

“Emmaline!” Annika shrieked. Regin, behind her, rolled her eyes at the sight of them together. “Get away from him!”

Emma gasped, seeming embarrassed to be caught in bed with Lachlain. Then her expression turned defiant. “No.”

“You can't mean this. We will discuss this when you're better.” To Regin, she said, “Take him from here.” Her voice was laced with disgust.

Emma tensed. “Don't touch him, Regin.”

“Sorry, Em.” She drew her sword and swept to the bed in a blur, her sword point under his chin before they could blink. He tensed, but with his injuries and Emma thrown over him, he couldn't react quickly enough.

“Put—the sword—down,” Emma said.

“You're out of your head, kid. Why do you want to be with him when you have nightmares about him?”

Annika added, “You need to move away from this . . . this
Lykae.”

“I'm keeping”—her eyes flickered—“this Lykae.”

“But the nightmares—”

“Are our business.” When Regin pressed forward, Emma bit out, “I said
no.”
She backhanded her with phenomenal speed.