Black Desire (5 page)

His fangs extended
again and her scent all but drowned his senses. So it was true, Katrina was his
mate. After Georgiana, he thought he would never find love again. His father,
of course, told him he was being maudlin. What if she didn't feel the same? He
took her hand and gently laid it by her side. In one effortless move, he sat
her upright in front of him again and held her close. Neither spoke as they
watched the sun settle down over the ocean. The still water glittered like
diamonds. He nuzzled her neck and then rested his chin on top of her head.
Serenity. Joy. Comfort. Love. He hadn't even felt an inkling of any of these
emotions since 1939. God's mercy.

Chapter Four

Alone in her room
later that night, Katrina sat in stunned silence. Greg was still at The Rusty
Anchor and would not be home for three hours yet. After the sun set, Tristan
Black brought her home. He gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek and a promise to
call tomorrow. Then like a wisp of smoke, he disappeared into the darkness. Who
was this man? Private beaches? 175,000-dollar car? His watch was expensive and
so was the large ornate ring he wore on his pinkie. She was fascinated by the
elaborate design, a Celtic knot speared by a sword with a serpent wrapped
around the blade and an oversized black onyx for the serpent's eye.

She lounged in the
dark in the oversized wing chair in the corner, knowing she couldn't
concentrate to read, write or watch TV. All she could think of, all she wanted
to think of was Tristan. How could she feel this way about a man she just met?
What did she feel? She reached for the leather scrunchie sitting on the end
table next to her. She piled her hair high off her face, then drew her knees up
and wrapped her arms around her legs. That kiss. Lord, she almost came in his
arms from a damned kiss. No man had ever gotten such a reaction out of her. And
when he kissed her palm, she wanted to weep from the intensity, the tenderness
and the longing.
 
She saw his face. He
felt the same—she was sure of it. His breathing was as rough and his moans as
loud as hers.

Also, there was no
mistaking the erection under her rear she shamelessly ground herself on. God, he
was as hard as granite, huge and potent. He stayed hard the rest of the time
they watched the sunset. When he stood and reached for her hand to help her to
her feet, her gaze shamelessly traveled the whole, long length of him up to
that straining bulge, which caused her mouth to go dry and other parts of her
go wet.

Would he call
tomorrow? He very easily could have seduced her right there on the beach, as
she was more than willing. Tristan was the one who backed off. Why? She shook
her head. Men. Who could understand them?

****

The time was nearing
midnight, and Tristan stood on the private beach and watched his father's large
schooner gently glide toward the dock. He smiled irreverently as he made out
his father Deegan, standing with one leg up on the railing of the bow, a pose
he no doubt used for hundreds of years of pirating and smuggling. He did it
more as a hobby now than anything. His cargo usually consisted of contraband
liquor and cigarettes. His father would not smuggle drugs, though there was a huge
profit in it. The Blacks did not need money. They were already rich as Croesus
as were all in the Blackthorne Clan.

The small crew worked
efficiently as they unloaded the crates and boxes and stored them in the
cottage. His father strode down the dock. He was a few inches shorter than
Tristan but had the same slim musculature that spoke of a sleek panther in
movement and menace. Deegan's hair was jet black and very wavy. It fell in long
layers at his jawline. They both had the same steely gray eyes, which were
potent in their gaze. Deegan also sported a closely cropped goatee and had a
small, hooped gold earring dangling from his earlobe that glittered under the
subdued dock lights. His father smiled with a wicked, swashbuckler grin. He
was
fucking Errol Flynn. All that was
missing was a sword on his hip.

"Ah my son, I am
not used to having you greet me." The easy smile slid from his lips.
"What is it? What has happened?"

Curse his father. He
could sense intense emotions since it was part of his Vampiric powers.
Thankfully he could not read minds. Tristan had learned over the century and a
half to shutter his emotions around his father, but he failed tonight. He would
tell him a half-truth.

"I have met a
woman," he replied flatly.

His father put an arm
around his shoulder briefly in affection and comradeship. "Ah, see? I told
you it would be a matter of time before you met the woman for you."

"Only took
seventy years," Tristan grumbled.

Deegan shrugged as
they walked together toward the gate. "Try waiting two hundred bloody
years."

Tristan glanced at
his father. It was true. There had been no one of any serious nature for his
father since his mother died of consumption when he was fifteen years old. When
his father was annoyed or in a highly emotional state, his long dormant Irish
accent would slip out.

"Right. Sorry,
Dad."

Deegan exhaled.
"I have plenty of female company when I desire it. If it happens again,
fine. If not, I've been alone for far longer periods of time. So, who is this
beauty that has captured your desire?"

Tristan walked away
from his father and keyed in the code to open the gates. The clanging and
screeching of the wrought iron filled the still night air. Both men climbed
into Tristan's Roadster as the gate shut behind them. Tristan turned the
ignition and the twelve-cylinder engine roared to life.

"She is Greg
Hammond's cousin, visiting for the summer. Katrina Hammond."

Deegan smiled,
flashing the Errol Flynn grin once again. "And here it is only the
thirtieth of June. You have the whole of the summer to woo and bed her. I
imagine it would take no time or effort. After all, you are my son."

Tristan backed out
the car and turned onto the highway.

"Your place or
mine?"

Seemed silly to ask,
as only a thatch of forest and a half-acre of land separated their sprawling
waterfront homes.

"Mine. I need
blood. Feeding on the crew is rude to the extreme and it has been a few days
since I had a woman," Deegan said.

"We can always
stop at the Rusty Anchor, it's still open. There are always willing women
there."

Deegan shook his
head. "No, I stand by the covenant, no locals. I have blood in the fridge.
I can mix it with a little Black Bush."

"So be it."
Tristan drove the couple of miles toward their cloistered, private estates.

"Are you sure
there is nothing else, my son? You seem troubled."

No way in hell on
earth was he going to mention Raynor and his blood bath.

"No. Just this
woman. We'll talk more when we get to your house. I don't know how to proceed.
She is mortal. I don't know if I can go through that again. Ever."

Deegan reached over
and squeezed his arm in understanding. They did not speak the rest of the way.

****

The next day Katrina
ventured downtown to the small grocery store in Bennington Bay. It was a
smaller version of a larger chain of stores that snaked its way across Canada.
It was already past two o'clock in the afternoon and Tristan Black hadn't
called her, not that she was hanging by the phone or keeping her cell phone in
her hot little hand, as he had both numbers. Finally, she decided to go out. She
struggled with her canvas “go green” bag full of groceries and her car keys as
she mumbled her annoyance under her breath.

A deep masculine
voice startled her. "Well. Hello again, Katrina."

She dropped her keys
and turned to see the incredibly handsome Devlin Steele gazing at her with an
eerie, intense look. Did the man make any noise at all? She never heard him
walk up behind her.

They spoke for about
thirty-five minutes in the pub the other night. It was a pleasant enough
interlude but at the end she found she was not interested in the beyond
attractive Devlin.
 
He leaned down to
pick up her keys and then passed them to her. As she reached out for them, his
fingers lingered a bit too long on her hand. He stroked and caressed her briefly
and it made her uneasy. She snatched her hand away.

"Devlin, nice to
see you."

She pushed the key in
the car door lock. Devlin touched her arm to halt her.

"Perhaps we can
go for a coffee and talk." He smiled wolfishly. There was something about
this man that made her uneasy.

Her cell began to
vibrate in her pocket. She sat the bag on the ground and took the phone out.

"Just one
minute, Devlin."

She looked at the
incoming number. It was Tristan's. She had it seared in her brain, and no way
was she letting this call go to voicemail.

"Tristan,
hello!" she said brightly. "No, I have no plans tonight for dinner."

A deep, vicious
animal growl interrupted her words.

"Who is there
with you, Katrina?" Tristan demanded.

She whorled around
and the stealthy Devlin Steele had disappeared. "No one. I am just outside
the store. Yes, I can be ready at six o'clock."

She clicked off and
looked all around the half-empty parking lot. How did he get away so fast? She
shrugged, picked up her bag, unlocked her car door and climbed in. She had
other things on her mind, like what to wear and how she could get Tristan Black
flat on his back and under her thighs.

****

The dinner turned out
to be a short affair. Tristan drove to nearby St. Margaret's Bay to a seafood
restaurant he wanted to try. The conversation was casual, warm, and
companionable. He hung on her every word and laughed freely at her witticisms
and observations. She was a true storyteller, animated, descriptive, thoroughly
charming and damned sexy. He could listen to her deep, luscious, smoky tones
all night.

Instead of staying
with her all night, he bundled her off back to Greg's as soon as he paid the
bill. The intensity of his feelings had him in a swirl of mystification. He was
utterly flummoxed how to proceed. Even after a long talk with his father the
previous night and several Hennessey's, he was no further along in his
assessment of this situation.

So here he was driving around aimlessly. He drove to Peggy's
Cove, walked along the craggy rocks and around the picturesque lighthouse. The
waves roared and battered the rocks with a violent intensity that matched his
mood and his feelings. He wanted her, that was a given. His hardened cock had
not abated for three days no matter how many times he jerked off.
 
His fangs extending without warning and her
glorious, sexy scent, which was with him always, proved the Mate Bond. He had
to have her. Now. In the Vampire world, once the bond is verbally agreed upon,
it is sealed with the Vampire’s bite and leaving of a “mate mark.” The two
people were forged together until one or the other died or was destroyed. It
was a hell of a step.

Tristan could not go
through that again. To watch the woman he loved, his life and his heart age and
crumble before his eyes. He thought back, the memories wrapped in barbed wire
around his heart. He had made love to Georgiana well into her old age, wrinkles
and sagging skin be damned and he hadn't cared. Tristan loved her with a loyal
affection, and when she became too sick to make love to, derived satisfaction
in holding her close to his heart. He stayed faithful and constant until she
drew her last breath in his arms. Even now thinking of those last moments became
too much to bear. Tristan learned one lesson: love was fleeting but the pain of
loss lasts forever. What had his father said to him once? “Resurrection is what
the living need to do, not the dead.” Georgiana was dead. Gone. Never to return.
Could he resurrect himself and start a new life? Other Vampires in the Blackthorne
Clan had done it. His own father had done it. However, his human half begged to
differ. Resurrection was more difficult to achieve if one was not one of the
undead. Some Bach played softly in the background as he drove around. He soon
found himself on Greg Hammond's quiet, private street. He looked at the clock
on his dash. The glowing green numbers read 11:30 p.m. He turned into Greg's
driveway and turned off the motor.

****

The bedroom was lit
only by the muted moonlight filtering through the gathering gray clouds.
Sitting alone in the guest room Katrina relived the short dinner date. Greg as
usual was still working so she decided to try and work as well. Since Tristan
had dumped her at the door a couple of hours ago, she decided to write.

It was a hot, sticky
and humid night. No doubt it would rain again. She wore as little as she could,
a silky slip-like nightie that barely covered her ass. An oscillating floor fan
offered intermittent relief. Why did her cousin not have central air? Well, it
was an old house and had been in the family for generations. Her neck was sore
from being hunched over her laptop. Sighing deeply, Katrina scanned over what
she just wrote.