Defeat the Darkness (27 page)

She stared up at him with enough fear in her eyes to really piss him off. Maybe she had good reason, but after what they'd shared, she should know better. Right then he would've promised her anything, but the truth was easy. He owed her that much. No matter if he'd be breaking his vow to the Regents by doing so, he was going to tell her everything she wanted to know.

“Okay, but put some clothes on and meet me downstairs.” He forced himself to walk away, pausing at the door to look back. “Unless you want me to join you in that bed.”

When she jerked the sheets up to her neck, he had his answer.

W
hile he waited for Tate to come down Hunter made breakfast. She was already seriously upset with him, messing up her kitchen could hardly make matters worse. Besides, he needed to keep busy.

The floor overhead creaked. She was up and moving. Good. The sooner they got this over with, the better. He cracked half a dozen eggs into a bowl and put six strips of bacon into the skillet to fry while he set the table. What else?

A knock on the back door answered that question. He unlocked it and stood back as D.J. and Larem filed in. Penn was right behind them. As soon as he set foot in the kitchen, he sniffed the air and smiled.

“Breakfast! Good, I'm starving.”

Would it be cowardly to have the three men there as a temporary buffer between himself and Tate? Probably, but that didn't stop him from pulling another dozen eggs out of the fridge.

“If you want to eat, the plates are in that cabinet, and the knives and forks are in the drawer below it.”

He turned the bacon, all the time listening for the telltale creak of the steps to warn him that Tate was on her way down. There. She hesitated briefly at the top. Perhaps she'd heard the commotion and realized that she'd be facing more than just Hunter. Or maybe she needed one last moment to gather up her courage.

Resisting the urge to go to her, he put the bacon on paper towels to drain and poured the eggs into the skillet. By the time Tate finally made her appearance, he'd served up three plates' worth of food and shoved his friends out the door with orders to stay at his place until he came for them.

When he turned back, Tate was standing in the doorway staring at the mess on the counter.

“Sorry. I'll clean up, but I wanted to get the guys fed and out of here in a hurry.” He filled two mugs with hot tea and set them on the table. “Come on and have a seat. I may not be the best cook in the world, but even I can make edible bacon and eggs.”

She sat down and wrapped her hands around her mug, absorbing the heat as he dished up the rest of their meal. She didn't seem inclined to talk, and he was in no hurry to spill his guts. Not when it meant that he'd be back over at the apartment and packing up all his possessions five minutes after he was done talking.

Despite his claim to the contrary, his breakfast tasted like sawdust. He carried the plate to the sink and kept himself busy washing the dishes, all the while feeling the burn of Tate's gaze boring straight to the heart of him.
He knew she had questions, and he would answer each and every one of them to the best of his ability.

Her chair scraped across the wooden floor. He accepted the offering of her plate, the last excuse he had to avoid talking. As he wiped the last dish dry and returned it to its proper spot, it felt as if the seconds were counting down until the warden was going to throw the switch.

He turned to face her. “Want to take a walk?”

“No. I want answers.” To emphasize her plans to stay put, she sat back down at the table and refilled her mug.

Okay, a deep breath then. He flipped one of the kitchen chairs around and straddled it, resting his arms on the back as he faced her. “Ask away.”

“What are you?”

Ouch. Not
who,
but
what.
The distinction hurt. Did she think he was some kind of cyborg out of an old science fiction movie? He resented the inference, especially when she knew all too well just how human he was, but he bit back the urge to lash out.

“Okay, here it is in a nutshell. Our world shares a barrier with another one. When there's an earthquake or volcanic eruption, the barrier goes down and that's where the trouble starts. The crazies from that world come pouring across, out of their heads with the need to kill. Men like me fight to stop them before they can escape.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Sounds like a new series from the sci-fi channel on cable.”

He slammed his fist down on the table, causing the tea in her mug to slosh out on her hand. So that wasn't his smartest move. He grabbed the dish towel and tossed it to her.

“Look, I know it sounds far-fetched, but that doesn't make it less true.”

Clearly skeptical, she gave the scar on his forearm a pointed look. “So why do you heal like you do? And what's all this about you dying again? Are you talking about some kind of out-of-body experience?”

Oh yeah, this should be fun. “At some point in the past, some of those beings from the other world managed to wade into our gene pool. My ability to heal, as well as my ability to come back from death, are gifts from my long-lost alien ancestors.”

Tate looked out toward the garage. “And your buddies out there—they've got that same gift?”

Okay, so now he was outing his friends, too. “Penn, D.J., and Lonzo all do. Larem is actually from Kalithia, the other world, only he didn't cross over all crazy like most of them do. That trick he pulled last night was news to all of us, so I can't say for sure what he can and can't do.”

She nodded slowly, clearly still skeptical. “So that would mean Barak is an alien, too.”

He answered even though she hadn't really phrased it as a question. “Yes, he is.”

Her expression was bleak. “And you really did die last night.”

He nodded.

“And before you came here, when your leg was hurt so badly, you died then, too.”

He shuddered at the memory. No way he was sharing those details with her. “Yes, but that wasn't the first time, and it will happen again. That's how it is for my kind.
Eventually, though, we use up all of our get-out-of-jail-free cards.”

She flinched. “Is there a name for what you are?”

He straightened his shoulders, showing his pride in his answer. “To the few who know about us, we're known as Paladins. No one knows for sure, but we suspect that some of the knights who bore that name were our ancestors.”

“I'm not saying that I'm buying all of this, but if it's true, then how come no one knows about this stuff ?”

“Think about it, Tate.” He took a drink of his tea before continuing. “Most people couldn't handle knowing that we all live under the constant threat of alien invasion. And if any government agency got their hands on us, God knows what they'd do. Some would want to breed us or clone us or some such shit. Imagine the power of having an army that is damn near impossible to kill. Just as many would want to exterminate us for not being completely human.”

She shivered. “So are you or Larem going to do some kind of mind meld and erase my memory of all of this?”

He set his mug back down with a bang and glared across at her. “Hell, no. First of all because no one has that power. Secondly, if I didn't want you to know the truth—my truth—I would've just disappeared after putting you to bed last night.”

She met him glare for glare. “Don't get all huffy with me, Hunter Fitzsimon. How do I know what's possible and what's not? You didn't see Larem save your life by sticking a bloody knife in your heart. And you didn't hear yourself scream when he pulled it out.”

“No, and I'm sorrier than you'll ever know that you did see all of that. Of course, if you hadn't followed me out there, none of this would've happened.”

She shoved her chair back from the table and closed her hands into fists. “And you would've bled to death out there without anyone to help.”

“I bled to death anyway,” he reminded her. “But I would've been all right.” Eventually. Maybe. He didn't add that, or the part that if he'd come back out of his head crazy, he might have murdered everyone in Justice Point before D.J. or one of the others could track him down and kill him. “All you did was put yourself in danger for no good reason.”

She slowly rose to her feet and pointed toward the door. “I think you need to leave. Now.”

“Why?” he demanded, although he knew. “Because you don't like my answers? I warned you to stay away from me. I never asked you to sit up there in that window and wait up for me every night. It's not my fault you didn't listen.”

“Maybe you're right.” She stalked around to his side of the table and glared down at him, her mouth a straight slash. “But you let me think it was because of your problem dealing with your injury. If you'd told me the real truth from the start…”

This was getting them nowhere. He stood up, towering over her. He was petty enough to enjoy watching her back up a step to lessen the effect of his superior height. He followed right after her when she moved back again.

“If I'd told you the real truth, Tate, you would've never rented me the apartment in the first place.”

“Could you blame me?”

When she moved back again, she came up against the counter. He closed in, trapping her with one hand on either side of her. He was enough of a predator to enjoy this little game of cat and mouse.

Tate ducked under Hunter's arm and looked around for a safe place to go. Definitely not upstairs. The porch was also out of the question. The last thing she wanted was to be a spectacle for the neighbors, not to mention Hunter's friends. She circled around to the other side of the table. Hunter let her get a few steps away, but then he started prowling after her again. She should've been angry, but her traitorous body was reacting in a whole different way. Her breasts felt heavy and a familiar ache settled low in her body, growing stronger with each step they took.

“I didn't advertise for some kind of freaky alien tenant, you know.”

She regretted the words as soon as they slipped out. Unless she was mistaken, that was hurt she saw flash through Hunter's eyes before they turned stormy.

In a sudden move, he trapped her against the table. He leaned in close, forcing her to arch back to keep any distance between them.

“I'm not some kind of freaky alien, Tate.” Temper made his voice sound huskier than normal. “You should know. You've seen, touched, and tasted damn near every inch of me.” His breath danced over her skin.

Oh, yeah, she had. And right now some of her favorites of those inches were pressing against her belly, reminding her all too well of how good they had felt.

“And I don't remember you complaining about me being your tenant when I…”

His whispered reminder of exactly what he'd done to her—not once, but several times—had her skin flashing hot and then cold.

“Don't!”

“Don't what, Tate? Don't talk about it? Don't try it again? Maybe you should spell it out for me. We aliens don't always understand what you humans really want.”

“That isn't funny, Hunter.”

“I agree. In fact, I'm feeling pretty damned serious right about now—not to mention horny as hell.”

He was going to kiss her. She knew it. He knew it. And they both knew that if she let him, all bets were off. She gave his chest a shove, seeing if he'd grant her that much breathing room. When he did, still allowing her the final decision despite his anger and his desire, she knew all was lost. There might be no future for the two of them, but there was now.

She reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair none too gently. “This won't change anything, you know.”

He cupped the side of her face and stared down at her for the longest time. Finally, he answered as he brushed his thumb back and forth across her cheek. “I know. But that doesn't seem to keep me from wanting you.”

Then all chance for further discussion was gone. His mouth crushed down on hers, demanding entry, demanding surrender, maybe demanding forgiveness. She didn't know if she could give him what he wanted but she did know that if she didn't at least try, she'd never forgive herself.

God in heaven, the man knew how to kiss. After his initial assault, his touch gentled. She'd never been seduced by just the gentle sweep of lips against hers or realized that the soft brush of fingertips across her breasts could make her ache straight through to the heart of her.

She did some touching of her own, smiling when she heard the hitch in Hunter's breathing.

“Like that, do you?” She trailed her hand downward, stopping just short of her intended target, waiting for his approval.

“Woman, you'll be the death of me.” He rested his forehead against hers and sighed, then frowned when she laughed.

She sent her hand sliding downward to stroke him through the thickness of his jeans. He moaned and leaned into her, murmuring his approval and his pleasure.

“Want to go upstairs?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Don't think I can wait that long.”

Then he reached behind her and tested the strength of the table with his hand. Evidently satisfied with what he found, he grinned at her, his intent clear.

“Hunter?”

“Tate,” he echoed.

Scandalized, she sputtered, “Anyone could walk up on that porch and see us.”

He shook his head as he spanned her waist with his strong hands and lifted her up onto the table. “Your friends never use that door and mine know I'll kill them if they set foot out of my apartment without my express permission.”

She should've objected, should've marshaled her defenses. But how could she concentrate on things like logic and common sense when he was busy peeling down her jeans and panties and unbuttoning her shirt? Maybe she could've come up with the right words, but then he was once again leveling the playing field. How was a girl supposed to think straight with him showing off that sculpted physique just for her?