A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) (11 page)

She was a mystery, and he felt compelled to solve her. He shouldn’t feel that way, but the urge was there—to peel back all her layers, to see to the true core of her. And he couldn’t even tell himself not to care. Not as long as solving the riddle of who she was—
what
she was—helped him reclaim his soul.

* * *

D
ARIUS TURNED ON THE
television as soon as they entered the room, flipping channels until he found the local news.

She dropped her bag beside one bed, staring at the short distance to the other one and wondering how she was supposed to sleep at night with him so close, her senses full of him.
Feeling him. Smelling him.
She shook her head. A lycan, a predator, a creature known for low impulse control. She was a fool to let him affect her.

To occupy her hands, she started unpacking. The murder was all over the news. They were reporting on the few details released and interviewing people who knew the victim, most of them students at San Vista College. Just like the last four victims had been. Fear was clear in their faces. They were worried. The reporter featured a few university parents who talked about withdrawing their children.

She paused, watching, sick at heart by the evidence of so much pain, so much damage left by Balthazar. “All the victims have been students at San Vista College.”

He glanced back at her from where he sat on a small couch before the television. “Then we know where to start.”

Tresa nodded. “She knows all the victims.
Personally.” She thought back to her dreams, tapping into the thoughts and emotions of the witch in those moments when she killed. “She’s connected to them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re in her circle of friends.”

On the television, the dean of students was making a speech on the steps of a campus building. He expressed his grief and invited students to a memorial service tomorrow.

“She’ll be there,” Tresa announced, certain. “She won’t be able to stay away.”

“Then we’ll be there, too.” He rose in one fluid motion, stripping his shirt over his head smoothly.

Her breath seized inside her lungs. How long had it been since she’d been alone with a man? In such close quarters? His skin was swarthy, olive hued. His body sculpted perfectly.

Her belly fluttered treacherously. Her gaze devoured him, her chest aching, tight, as he moved into the bathroom and started the shower.

She swallowed past the sudden dryness in her mouth.

He emerged again, every masculine inch of him exuding power and virility. Her palms grew damp and she sank down on the edge of the bed, sliding her hands under her thighs,
trapping them as if she didn’t trust them not to reach for him.

He rummaged in his bag and reemerged with a pair of handcuffs.

She gasped and recoiled, springing up and fleeing to the far corner of the room.

He angled his head, his eyes hard and intent. Merciless still, even now that they’d teamed up. It was an unpleasant reminder that nothing had really changed. Not him. Not what he thought of her.

He clenched his jaw. “You want to do this on the bed or the chair?”

She shook her head. “Not again.” She held up a hand to ward him off. “You said we’re in this together—”

“That doesn’t mean I can trust you.”

“What am I going to do? Run away? Where am I going to go? You know why I came here. I can’t hide from you anymore.”

He approached. She backed into the wall until she could go no farther.

He grasped her wrist, positioning the steel cuff over it. She cringed and tried to pull free, but the hot press of his fingers was inescapable.

He studied her. His face was so close.
He
was so close. The manly scent of him filled her nostrils.

“I can’t afford to take the chance.” He actually sounded apologetic.

“Please.” Her voice cracked, her gaze dropping to the cuffs. Memories flooded her, as fresh as though they’d happened yesterday. They flashed through her mind like bursts of lightning in the dark. The weight of a chain squeezing around her. The burn of water in her nose, in her lungs. “I can’t be bound. Not again.”

He cocked his head as though he understood she wasn’t simply referring to when he had handcuffed her. But something else. Something worse. His gaze pierced her, penetrating, demanding elaboration… the truth,
everything
.

She swallowed, words choking her. Shaking her head, she looked away, blinking suddenly stinging eyes, unwilling to bare herself to him.

The past was her burden. She’d never spoken of it… never shared it with anyone. Not in all this time. But then, who would she share such a horrible memory with? Who cared enough to want to know? There was no one. There had never been anyone in all these years.

“It was Etienne Marshan,” she heard herself begin, her voice a whisper.

Impossible as it seemed, his silver eyes brightened. Of course he recognized the name. “The first lycan… the one you cursed?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “He was my liege lord. He bound me, weighed me down with chains and stones.” She drew a deep breath. “And then he drowned me.” She could almost taste the dark river water again, feel it gagging her, blacking out her world.

Darius gazed at her, unblinking. “He tried to kill you?”

“He did kill me,” she retorted. “I died that day. My heart. My body.” She thrummed her fingertips against her mouth, nervous energy zipping through her as she recalled that day… that nightmare she relived whenever she allowed herself to remember. Which wasn’t often.

But she relived it again right now, sharing it with Darius. She didn’t understand why she was telling him this, only that it felt right. She needed him to understand. Needed him to know why she couldn’t be restrained again. Also… she needed him to understand that she wasn’t what he thought. She was more.

He watched her with his piercing gaze, waiting for her to continue. She moistened her lips. His gaze lowered, fixing on her mouth with an intensity that made her skin tighten.

“He murdered me alongside my family that day. When Balthazar promised me vengeance, I took it. With my last dying breath, I took
it. I didn’t realize what it would mean… what he would do.” She laughed brokenly, bitterness welling up inside her. “Demons are tricky that way. He caught me at my weakest moment. I wasn’t in a position to read the fine print. I just wanted to make Marshan pay.”

She released her breath and dropped her gaze to the cuffs he held in his hand. He didn’t move toward her. His legs stayed braced squarely in front of her. She held herself tightly, waiting for the cold steel to circle her wrists.

It never happened.

He touched her chin with his fingers, lifting her face with that gentle contact. His expression was inscrutable, the sharp angles and carved lines revealing nothing.

Everything, her entire world in that moment, centered on his hand on her face. The brush of his fingers against her skin. How long since she had felt the touch of another? Tenderness?

She blinked as he slid his hand away, telling herself it couldn’t have been gentleness. He hated her. He wanted her dead. Wanted her to pay, to suffer. She was
his
Etienne Marshan.

And she could not fault him for that.

After a long moment, he tossed the cuffs on the bed and moved into the bathroom without a word, shutting the door.

Alone, she stared at the handcuffs and then the closed bathroom door, marveling that he’d decided to trust her.

She pushed from the wall and turned off the suite’s overhead light. Next, she flipped on the small desk lamp. A dull circle of light glowed from beneath the shade.

Tugging back the covers, she slid into the bed nearest the window, positioning her back to the bathroom so she didn’t have to see him when he emerged. For some reason, she couldn’t stop shivering.

Several minutes passed and she heard the water shut off. Closing her eyes, she feigned sleep. A few moments later, the door opened. That fresh, warm-water smell swept inside the room. She inhaled, catching his clean, soapy scent. Beneath that was the inherent, intoxicating male musk of him. Her chest swelled with a deep breath.

His movements were silent and her back itched, tingled, imagining his gaze there. She longed to turn and take a peek. Instead, she curled more tightly into herself, tried to make herself as small as possible, and resisted the urge.

The desk lamp snapped off, plunging the room into darkness, and all of her senses jumped into hyper-alertness.

A faint spring creaked, the only indication that he’d gotten into his bed. She envisioned that bare chest exposed above the sheet. Was he wearing shorts? Boxers?
Anything?

This was just because she’d isolated herself too much. The unremitting loneliness… going without a man’s touch… without
sex
. That explained why she would yearn for a lycan who justifiably hated her.

“Good night.” His voice rumbled across the dark, stroking her flesh as softly as a feather.

She jammed her eyes tightly shut, even though he couldn’t know she was only pretending to be asleep.

He couldn’t know that it took hours for exhaustion to claim her, with thoughts of him flooding her, consuming her, drowning her just as that river had.

Only instead of the black river water, it was his brilliant silver eyes that she saw.

E
LEVEN

T
he elevator dings and you step off. An empty corridor looms left and right, cast in yellowy light from the wall sconces. The elevator doors whoosh softly shut at your back. You step right, the plush carpet deadening your steps as you advance. Doors drift past until you reach the one you seek. The door’s gold-scripted numbers confirm you’re in front of the correct room. You flatten your palm against the wood, imagine you can feel a pulse in the dead particles.

A sigh trembles from your lips as you imagine her on the other side. The one like you. Even now, asleep, she’s with you, sharing in everything. You know this. Your hand slides away.

A quick glance left and right reveals you’re still alone in the corridor. The faint sound of a television plays from behind the door of a nearby room.

You squat in front of the door and deposit the bunch of rose stems. Stems minus their blooms. A slow smile curves your lips as you recall how you used those petals. Even now Jason flashes before your eyes, the pink petals arranged so gloriously around his body. He was more beautiful in that moment than ever in life, and you’re sad… because it’s over. And you can’t do it again. At least to him.

With one last glance at the butchered roses, you step back, satisfied that your token will be waiting there for her when she wakes up.

* * *

T
RESA’S EYES FLEW WIDE.
Darkness swirled around her, thick as tar. Her face turned instinctively toward the door. A small thread of light glowed from underneath.

“She’s here.” She barely breathed the words but she felt Darius instantly alert, fully understanding and springing from the bed.

Light flooded the room as he yanked the door open. Beyond his naked torso, Tresa could detect nothing. No one. But she knew the other witch had just been there. Standing there, staring at their door. A shiver scraped down her spine to know that she had been so close. That she still was. She couldn’t have gotten far. She
pushed back her shoulders and forced herself not to tremble like a scared child.

“Hey! You there!” A curse exploded from Darius and he suddenly flew from the room. Tresa dove from the bed and caught the door, stepping into the corridor to see where he was going.

Pain stabbed the bottom of her foot, and she hopped back just as she glimpsed Darius slamming through the stairwell door. A glance down revealed a pile of thorny rose stems.

She examined the bottom of her foot where several of the thorns had pricked her flesh. Blood welled from the puncture wounds. With a muttered epithet, she looked back up. The witch had just stood here. Had left the destroyed flowers while she and Darius slept. This time there was no stopping the shiver from coursing through her.

She tentatively rested her foot on the floor, stepping over the flower stems to peer down in the direction Darius had fled.

As the seconds ticked by, her heart hammered faster. When a hand closed over her shoulder, she jumped back and screamed.

Darius held both hands in the air as though proclaiming himself safe. Innocent.

“Where’d you come from?” she panted.

He motioned behind him. “There’s a second stairwell around the corner.”

Her heart rate gradually dropped into the normal realm as disappointment filled her. “You didn’t catch her.”

“I thought I heard someone in the stairwell… running feet.” He shook his head. “I went down and back up, but didn’t see anyone. It’s possible she went into a room.”

That seemed likely. The witch couldn’t have outrun him—not a lycan.

He bent and gathered the rose stems. “Guess she left these for you.”

“She knows I’m here,” she said hollowly. The stems had been a message. A warning or a taunt. Maybe both.

He nodded, his gaze locking with hers. “Then so does he.”

Tresa swallowed past the unbearably thick lump in her throat. Balthazar could take her, claim her at any moment. Whenever the mood struck him.

Darius looked satisfied. Of course. He was only here to hunt her demon. He didn’t care what happened to her.

Deflated, she turned back for the room, wincing when she stepped down.

“What’s wrong?” His hand grasped her arm.

“Nothing. Just stepped on those.” She waved a disgusted hand at the butchered roses.

“Let me see.”

She tried to object, but his warm hand slid around her calf. She grabbed hold of his shoulder with both hands for balance. Immediately her hands were full of warm male skin, silk over steel. His muscles bunched and rippled beneath her palms. Her breath seized inside.

She didn’t even feel him prodding at the sole of her bare foot. She only felt the powerful body in her hands. The heady aroma of him as soap and man wafted to her nose. Her feminine parts tightened and clenched, reminding her that it had been a long, long time since a man had touched her. Longer since one had been inside her, filling her, moving hard and fast to satisfy her body’s deepest aches.