Hunted, The Complete Edition: A Full-length Steamy Vampire Romance (New England Nightwalkers) (14 page)

H
adn’t
it been two hours yet?

Zara glanced at the neon lights of the alarm clock and sighed. Another hour, at least. She’d just resigned herself to turning on the TV when her stomach growled.

She’d been so nervous about her performance for Gabriel, she hadn’t been able to eat a thing at Steph’s party earlier. Gabriel hadn’t likely had much time to eat either, and her last attempt at cooking for him had been a major fail. This time, she was determined to impress.

She rolled out of bed and stood to pluck the silky robe she'd adopted as her own off the hook on the back of the door and slid it on before padding silently out of the room. On the way to the kitchen, she passed Gabriel's study and slowed to a halt as she glanced in.

He'd given her the grand tour during their first weekend together, and he'd offered free run of the house, but to this point, she'd mainly stuck to the bedroom and living areas. Now, though, the call of the glorious books--shelf upon shelf, row upon row--became too much to resist.

He would be at least another hour. Surely ten minutes just to run her fingers over the spines and select one or two for later would still leave her plenty of time for her culinary masterpiece omelet.

She tied the robe more tightly around her waist and made her way into the study, just a little giddy at the prospect.

What a nerd.

Steph was right. You could take the librarian out of the library, but...

Ten minutes came and went as she slowly made her way around the room. There was only one bare wall. The rest were built-ins and housed books, floor to ceiling. The tomes ranged from genre fiction to biographies, to encyclopedias to classics. The only constant was the quality of the books themselves. No expense was spared to source the finest copies. Many were leather-bound with delicate, gold foil-embossed lettering. Even the newer ones looked like special editions. She had just slid a first-run copy of Harry Potter back into its space and had plucked Steinbeck from the shelves when she felt a cool draft at her ankles. She shivered, and wrapped one arm around her waist. Had Gabriel mistakenly left a window cracked in the room across the hall?

She put the heavy tome back in place and made her way toward the hall, wrinkling her brow when the chill subsided almost instantly. This was an interior room, so there were no windows in the study. But then, where was the cold air coming from?

Puzzled, she strode back to where she'd been standing and paused.

There it was again. A definite chill. Curious, she dropped to her knees onto the heavy, Oriental rug, and held a hand to the panel just below the bookshelf. It was coming from a space beneath there for sure. She wondered idly if Gabriel was aware of it or if it was a new development courtesy of a mouse chewing its way in to escape the cold winter air. She made a mental note to mention it and was about to stand when, on a whim, she pressed a hand to the panel. It folded inward and she gasped.

Gabriel had left her alone one time for less than three hours and already she'd managed to break his house. But the thought fizzled away a second later when the entire bookshelf shifted backward, as if on an unseen hinge.

A secret room.

Zara's heart hammered as she froze in place, half crouched.

The chill that had been just a hint before now enveloped the room and a sick feeling swept over her. She peered into the dark space, but only a stone wall had been revealed. In order to see more, she would have to stand up, step in and look to the left as the shelf of books had opened inward, obscuring her view to the right.

Let it go, Zara. There's nothing to see here. It's a replica of an old, Victorian mansion, and that secret room had likely been there long before Gabriel had bought it. Walk away.

She rose slowly on trembling legs and covered her mouth with one hand as a thousand thoughts ran through her head.

Thoughts about secrets and lies and vampires and sex clubs.

Thoughts about Rick Gleason and his missed phone call.

Thoughts about handsome men walking on a deserted road late at night. A road that happened to be right near her house.

Steph’s words came back to her in a rush.

“Be careful, all right?”

Zara stared at the opening, feeling like she was being torn in two. If it was nothing? If it was just some cobweb-filled storage space in the middle of a creepy old house? No harm, no foul. She'd close it up again, tell Gabriel about it and they'd have a laugh about her paranoia and she'd be able to put it to bed once and for all.

And if it wasn't? If it was something more? Something he was hiding from her? Then she didn't owe him anything, least of all her trust.

She took a tentative step forward, and then another, dread snaking up the base of her spine to clutch at her throat. She turned her head to the left, and felt along the chilly stone wall for a light switch, but there was none.

Heart pounding, she backed into the study again and reached into the pocket of her robe for her cell phone. It was already after three. Gabriel had been gone almost two hours. If she was going to do this, it needed to be now. She scrolled through and flipped it into flashlight mode before stepping back into the space, muttering a mantra the whole way.

"Everything is going to be fine, everything is going to be fine."

She shined the light to the left and saw the narrow space widened into what appeared to be a large room about five yards down. As she traversed those five uneventful yards, she noted with a growing sense of panic that she had yet to encounter a single cobweb.

Which meant this room wasn't so secret. Gabriel knew about it, and had been here recently.

"Stop it, Zara. That doesn’t mean he's a frigging vampire."

Of course it didn't. It might mean that he was smart and had loads of hidden storage. Or it could mean that he used the area like a safe for his valuables. Or maybe he just thought it was cool and kept his most special books secreted away. Heck, beneath all the melodrama and irrational fear, she thought it was kind of cool too. Besides, she reminded herself as she took the final steps that brought her into the room, vampires were make believe. The stuff of bad horror movies and--

Empty.

The room was large and drafty, and she tugged the robe more tightly around her shoulders as she panned the beam of the flashlight over its contents from wall to wall. It was empty.

Or near to it, at any rate. A few broken wooden crates in one corner, a pile of browning sheets of paper scattered on the floor. It, indeed, looked like an old, out of use storage space. A semi-hysterical laugh bubbled from her lips as the relief washed over her.

"Fool," she murmured under her breath. What had she expected to find? A pile of decomposing bodies? Or maybe a sarcophagus?

Apparently this particular apple hadn't fallen as far from the tree as she'd pretended. Gabriel had done nothing in their time together to cause her mistrust and this was the end of it, as far as she was concerned. The final blow that shattered the last of her fears and inhibitions. She'd make that delicious, late night breakfast for him, and then? She'd take the plunge, open her heart entirely, tell him she loved him, and see where it led her.

She had turned away, cheeks flaming at her wild imagination, and started back toward the narrow hallway when something in the far corner caught her eye. A small cubbyhole cut into the wall. She walked slowly toward it, keeping the beam of light trained in front of her. When she reached it, she peered inside.

A book. An old one, to be sure. But it was just another book.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the adrenaline roller coaster making her light-headed. She opened her eyes and reached in to tug the tome from its hiding place.

The Holy Bible
.

She traced the delicate gold foil lettering on the cover and then opened it. Something fell to the ground but before she bent to retrieve it, the flourished scrawl of an inscription that covered the bottom half of the first page caught her attention and held it.

D
ecember 25
^th
, 1912

My Darling Gabriel-

They may have stolen our humanity, but they cannot steal our souls.

-
Mother

T
he words were writhing
in her mind like a pit of vipers as she set the book down and bent to pick up what had slipped from its pages. Her fingers shook as she straightened, aiming the flashlight at the image she’d retrieved.

A small, black and white photograph, weathered with the passage of time and curled around the edges. A little boy, around the age of twelve, standing beside a beautiful woman. She was dressed in a gown holding a parasol, her dark hair swept up in a fall of curls. But it was the boy who held Zara’s rapt attention.

Because there was no doubt in her mind she was looking at a young Gabriel.

The keen eyes, the square jaw, even his stance. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as her brain stuttered to make sense of it all. Because there was also no doubt that this photograph had been taken over a hundred years ago.

"Zara?"

That low, controlled voice that usually made her tingle from head to toe with exhilaration sent a trickle of horror snaking through her. She swallowed hard and turned to face him in the darkness, heart beating so fast, it felt like it might explode. Before she could reply, the room was awash in dim light.

"The switch is tricky to find," Gabriel murmured, gesturing to a place high on the wall. So strange, he still looked like himself. Tall, muscular, strappingly handsome in a way that would make most women swoon.

But now, all she could see were the things she'd missed before. The slight pallor to his skin, unusual for a healthy male built so well. The blue of his eyes that, in retrospect, seemed almost uncanny. And most of all, the strange, instinctive pull toward him despite what she now knew in her heart to be true.

"Stop," she spat, taking a step backward on trembling legs.

His face was a mask of pain as he took a step forward.

"Stop what, Zara?"

"Stop whatever it is you're doing to my mind," she demanded. A big part of her--the part that screamed at idiots in horror movies when they split up or ran toward sounds of trouble--blared a warning at her.

Shut up, stupid. Pretend you wandered in and don't have a clue what you’ve found.

Surely that was the most sensible plan, but her poker face was garbage and if Gabriel's solemn expression was any indication, it would be a waste of energy.

She knew. He knew she knew. Now all that remained to be seen was what he planned to do about it.

Her pulse hammered as she mentally cursed herself for giving up on carrying the wooden stake with her. God, if she could only go back in time.

How could she have given up on her father… just set his death aside so easily?

A wail of heartache and fear threatened to creep up from her chest and she covered her mouth with one hand.

"Zara, please. Let's leave this room and go into the study to talk. There's a lot I need to tell you, and--"

"Fine," she murmured, moving toward the door, careful not to touch him and holding her breath as she passed him. He didn't mean to kill her right that second, or he'd have done so the second he walked in and saw her there. Easy enough to slit her throat or bite her and leave her lying on the stone floor. No muss, no fuss, no rug to clean those stubborn bloodstains out of.

She reached the light of the study and stepped through the bookshelf wall on shaking legs, mind racing with ideas, none of which would likely work.

Make a run for it or hide? This was his house and he knew it like the back of his hand. And, if lore was to be believed about their supernatural abilities, he would catch her before she made it to the hallway. She could try to make like she didn't care. That she was cool with this new development. But odds were, he'd see right through that ruse for the same reason he'd see through any attempt to play dumb.

No, the only chance she had if she had one at all was to get him talking until she found some sort of weapon and had the element of surprise. If she could slow him down and at least get out of the house long enough to get to a phone and call the police...

He stepped into the room and closed the bookshelf door behind him. "This will be hard to believe, but I planned on telling you tonight when I got home. But there were things to be done, plans to make first."

She refused to make eye contact with him, already feeling a tiny part of her heart starting to soften at the agony in his voice.

"Say it," she demanded in a low voice. "Say it out loud for me to hear. Because after months and months of being steeped in my father's world of paranoia, I was finally convinced we were both crazy to think such a thing. So say it."

The pause was long, and fraught with tension, like the words pained him. When he finally spoke, she felt the truth of his words in her gut.

"Your father was right, and so were you,” he said, holding her gaze with his own. “I'm a nightwalker. And he was murdered by my brethren."

The room swayed and dipped as she reached for his desk to steady herself.

She’d fallen in love with the enemy.

She lunged for the closest thing she could get her hands on and let it fly.

G
abriel stared
down at the hilt of the letter opener jutting from his shoulder and the blood spreading across his shirt almost dispassionately.

He yanked it out and let it drop harmlessly to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Zara’s wail of despair cut through him. He’d suffered untold agony at the hands of Dr. Fenton tonight and the days before, but it was the cry of this slip of a woman that he felt down to his very soul.

"How?” she sobbed, her voice not more than a broken cry. "How could you have done that? Laid next to me in bed and touched me and told me the things you told me, knowing what happened to my father?"

She reached a hand down to the gleaming gems that shone bright against her collarbones.

"And this? Was this a prize for dropping it? For letting myself fall under your spell? Letting you convince me that everything I'd believed, everything my father had told me, everything that he died for, was a lie?” She yanked it off and threw it clear across the room to land at his feet. “You son of a bitch."

He let the words fall down on him like acid rain, each one like another wound. He wanted to argue with her. To tell her she had it all wrong and that everything between them was as real as the very room they were standing in, but he stayed silent, knowing she wasn't ready to hear it. And maybe she never would be.

"So what now? Are you going to kill me? Is that the plan? Because I'd rather that than to turn into a bloodsucking monster capable of what was done to those poor kids at the bonfire that night."

Her voice cracked as she choked back another sob.

"Were you there for that, Gabriel? Were you there during the massacre? Did those children plead for their lives? Jesus Christ. And I let you touch me,” she whispered brokenly.

He squeezed his eyes closed and cursed his own stupidity for leaving her there alone. If only he'd had a chance to tell her the way he had planned it, maybe she would have more faith in him. But he'd blown it. And so had Fenton, that bastard. His latest cure had been nothing more than the most devastating failure yet. Now, there was no promise to make her…nothing left to do but try to minimize the damage.

"I wasn't there, Zara. I had no knowledge of that until after it happened, and I was as sickened by it as you were."

Her harsh laugh made his eyes snap open but he wished he'd left them shut. Because her face was a mask of revulsion and, yes, although he could hardly bear to think it, hate.

"I doubt that. Because you drink people's blood to survive. Which means every day, there is a cost that someone else has to bear for your very existence."

"I know you don't trust me, and I know I came by that mistrust honestly, but I need you to listen right now. If you believe the people who murdered that family are evil and are capable of that and more, then we need to leave. We have to get you out of here before the others discover what I've known since the day you showed up at Club Nitris."

"Which is?"

"Your father was a vampire hunter and is responsible for the death of the Master's mate."

The room went silent for a long moment while she let those words sink in. She shook her head slowly, frowning.

"No, that can't be right. He said he was searching for the parties responsible for the massacre. There was nothing in any of his writings that said he'd found them or taken action. I don't believe you. This is just more lies--"

"You're wrong, Zara. He did find a band of nightwalkers near an abandoned house. They'd taken residence there because it was smack center in a field where there was lots of wildlife. You might think we're all demons, but some of us prefer to not drink from humans if we can help it. Melissande was one of the group. He happened upon her taking blood from the neck of a prone buck, when she looked up to find a crossbow aimed at her heart.”

He glanced at the grandfather clock behind her and clenched his jaw. The sun was set to shine brightly that day, and if Gabriel wanted to travel freely, they needed to leave immediately to get some miles between them and The Protectorate. When he didn’t show up to bring Zara to Ezekiel or go to the club to give Irena his report, it would be no time at all before they worked it all out and realized he was on the run.

He tried not to let his urgency show as he continued on.

“Your father didn't have all the details right, but he knew his stuff, and when he sent that shaft of silver through her, she exploded into a pile of dust. The reason he never told you about it or recorded his experience was that he didn't make it out of the field. See, Ezekiel isn’t nearly so squeamish about blood or humans in general, but he loved Melissande with every fiber of his being. So he was there that night too. And he was a minute too late to save her."

"Ezekiel? That’s the name of the vampire who killed my father?"

"Yes."

"It was a gruesome death." Her ashen face was slack, without emotion, but he could feel the pain rolling off her in waves. "They were sure he'd been mauled by a mountain lion or a bear. But his head was ripped near clean off, and I knew something wasn’t right. I want to kill the demon responsible, Gabriel. I want to destroy him."

He balled his fists up at his sides to keep from going to her, pulling her into his arms and figuring out a way to chase the pain away.

Because he was the source of her pain right now. The bearer of the worst news. Had he been so blinded by his love for her that he'd actually thought that she would ever be able to forgive him?

"I know it's a lot to take in, Zara. And I want to give you as much time as you need to do that, but I'm afraid I don't have it to give." He took a step toward her, wincing as she leapt back, cowering.

"I made you a vow when you came to the club that first night. I swore I would never let any harm come to you. And whether you like it or not, nothing will stop me from keeping my vow. So I ask you again, for your own safety, Zara. Come with me now. When we are far enough from here, you can ask me anything you want. I promise not to touch you, or even talk to you unless you want me to."

"I will never ever want you to," she snarled.

He walked toward her and this time, she didn't back away.

"What...what are you doing to me?" Her voice was a whisper, but it was far worse than a shout. Because she couldn't shout. He'd stolen her freedom to do that…taken her voice and her will. She was a marionette and he would be her puppeteer, pulling the strings.

"Come to me, Zara," he muttered, the self-disgust so deep, he felt the all-too human urge to vomit. He had to be strong. Strong enough for Zara. Because if he let his feelings for her weaken his resolve, it would cost her her life. “Come to me, now.”

She crossed the room toward him, the last of the fight leaving her. In fact, she looked eager to get nearer. And when she stopped right before him, she leaned in to press her hands to his chest. "How can I please you, Sir?"

Had it only been hours before when the title had heated his blood, and turned his heart from stone to flesh and blood? Now, the sound of it grated his ears. But there was no time to dwell.

He bent low and scooped her into his arms. "Sleep now, love. I will wake you when it's time."

She nodded, eyes already going soft and slumberous as he strode toward the door, cursing himself with each step he took.

She'd told him, clear as a bell, that she'd rather die than be near him. She'd told him that she didn't want to go with him. She wanted to stay here and exact vengeance on behalf of her father. And what had he done? He’d used his diabolical powers to mesmerize her and bend her to his will. Because it was all about what
he
wanted and more than anything in his long miserable life, he wanted Zara Matheson alive, whether she wanted that or not.

In all the time he'd spent with her, he'd tried to hold himself to some higher standard. Hell, he still had hopes that Dr. Fenton could alter his DNA and cure his lust for blood. But at the end of the day, when push came to shove?

He was a fucking monster, and no doctor could fix it.