Courting Darkness (17 page)

Haden wasn’t even trying to hide his tracks. That he didn’t take care to conceal his movements assured Liam of two things. One: He had Olivia. Two: He wanted Liam to find them. That knowledge left him with a knot of dread in the pit of his stomach. He was using Olivia as bait, no doubt intending to trade her for the stone. The bastard was getting too confident in his assumption that Liam wouldn’t kill him. It was making him brave. It was making him dangerous.

The blood covering of Christ would only buy him so much rope. If the bastard wasn’t careful, he’d hang himself with it. Somehow, Haden had discovered where Immanuel’s Stone was hidden, and as much as Liam wanted to go directly to Olivia and rescue her from that rotten bastard’s clutches, they were too close to the Grotto of the Redemption.

Without Liam’s connection to her, he didn’t know precisely where she was, and in searching to find her, he ran the risk of missing them all together. If Haden reached the grotto before he did… If by sheer dumb luck he located the stone… Fuck, he’d have no choice but to intercept them there.

The thought of Olivia being alone with Haden, at his mercy, burned like acid in his veins. He could only imagine the terror she must be feeling. Unable to sense her well-being—her fear—the loss nearly drove him mad. At the time he’d taken her memory, he believed he was keeping her safe. Then again, he never imagined he’d lose his guardianship, effectively neutralizing himself and making the way to Olivia a clean sweep.

He didn’t trust that manipulative POS, and without the truth, Olivia would be vulnerable to his lies. For over the one-hundredth time, he vowed if Haden so much as touched her, neither Heaven or Hell, could keep him from tearing that bastard apart. Death would be merciful compared to Liam’s wrath.

Chapter Thirteen

Olivia couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the death-grip Haden had on her hand, perhaps her body just refused to relax this close to him. Anyway, it was easier to blame her insomnia on him than admit the true reason sleep eluded her.

Liam wasn’t coming... Despite her claims to Haden that he wouldn’t, she’d secretly held out hope he would come for her. But as the days passed, his absence felt like the final blow. She wasn’t sure how much more heartbreak she could take. Already, she struggled with Liam’s betrayal—the theft of her memory. Her only remembrances of him were the ones she could conjure up in her dreams, and even then, how could she know if they were real or imagined?

The last dream she had, the night before Haden abducted her, had been very hot. Even thinking on it now brought a rush of heat to her cheeks that spread directly into her core. No way could that have been real. She couldn’t imagine an angel behaving so…carnal. Although in her dream, he never made love to her, he’d been creatively resourceful in the intimate hours they’d spent together. Had it really happened? Hell…she didn’t even know if she was a virgin. How pathetic was that?

With no hope of rescue in sight, she was painfully coming to grips with the fact that Liam truly was gone. She knew it in her heart to be true. Otherwise, he never would have left her in Haden’s custody. He never would have allowed the possibility of last night to occur. Not only was she almost killed, but in a moment of weakness, she’d been sorely tempted to make a grave mistake she would have no doubt regretted for the rest of her life—however short that may be.

Today they’d reach the grotto. She didn’t know how far they were from West Bend, but five minutes was too long, as far as she was concerned. She couldn’t keep going on like this, the tension between her and Haden was nearing a breaking point. He’d been furious with her last night—stung by her rejection. Earlier that day, she’d begun to wonder if he’d really harm her to force Liam’s return, but now, after last night, there was no doubt in her mind.

Do you know how many times I’ve bled for you?
That was the question he’d snarled, right after she’d dealt him that final blow. And honestly, no, she didn’t. In fact, that question had haunted her throughout the night. She had no memory of Haden before last week, other than what he’d shared with her. But her instincts told her they had history—twisted as their past may be. A part of her couldn’t deny that she felt something for him, and he for her, but was that something enough to keep her alive? She had no intention of finding out.

Haden stirred beside her, and she closed her eyes, feigning sleep. She wasn’t ready to deal with him yet. He’d surprised her with his tenderness last night. That she wasn’t entirely repulsed by his touch said little about her character. That a small remote part of her had responded to his kiss, said even less about her judgment.

He untangled his fingers from hers, a death grip he had on her all night. They tingled as her circulation was restored. Numb and stiff, she resisted the urge to wiggle them. Keeping her eyes closed, she focused on slowing her breathing. The mattress beside her caved, Haden’s weight shifted, and she cracked open an eye, peering through her thick lashes.

His back was to her as he sat on the side of the bed, wide shoulders tapered to his narrow waist. Rays of the early-morning sun glinted on his back, allowing her to see his shoulder. Nothing but pink streaks remained of the demon’s claw marks. Amazing…he’d healed so fast.

His muscles stretched as he flexed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his jean-clad knees. From this angle, she could see several long, faded scars lashing across his back. Haden’s head tipped forward to meet his hands and he dragged them through his hair, leaving it in disarray that most men would spend fifteen minutes in front of a mirror with a bottle of gel trying to get. She couldn’t deny he was gorgeous. Too bad she was in love with a ghost. Oh yeah, and in the next few hours, she might be dead.

“If you’re going to sit there and eye-fuck me again, I’d rather do the real thing. I know I’d sure as hell enjoy it a lot more.”

A startled gasp caught in her throat. She looked away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. How did he know she was awake—and staring? “I wasn’t,” she denied adamantly. “I was looking at your scars.”

“Oh joy. Which ones?” Bitterness laced his sleep-roughened voice.

“The claw mark on your shoulder. It’s almost gone.” She wanted to ask him about the lashed scars streaking his back, but thought better of it.

He grunted. “I told you it would be. Nice to know my angelic side is good for something, huh?”

At the moment, it was hard to imagine anything about Haden was angelic. After a stretch of silence, the softened part of her heart made her ask, “What happened to you?”

Slowly, he turned his head, pinning her with an arched look. “Now
that
sounds like pillow talk. And unless you want to do what it’d take to get us there, I suggest you get your ass out of this bed and get ready to go.”

His malevolent tone sent a ripple of fear racing down her spine.

Haden tipped his head back and inhaled dramatically. “No? You frighten so easily. Oh well, that’ll just make this easier for me. Tick-tock, Olivia, times a wastin’.”

Nailing him with a hateful glare, she hissed, “I hate you,” and threw back the covers before stomping toward the bathroom.

“Again, you’re makin’ it all the easier,” he taunted as she slammed the door behind her.

Who the fuck was he kidding? There wasn’t anything easy about this. In all his multi-millennial years, he’d never stooped to rape, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a tempting thought. Touching her last night, tasting her honey-sweet lips, ignited something primal in him—stoking a fire he was hard-pressed to deny. Insidious thoughts courted the darkness inside him, and Haden wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue to resist his need for her. He had to get away from this female before he did something he’d regret.

Oh, he was rather confident she would enjoy it—he’d make sure of that. But in bending her stubborn will, he couldn’t be certain she wouldn’t break, and that was something he just couldn’t live with. He’s made too many mistakes, done too many heinous things in his overly-long life…to add Olivia’s broken spirit to his list of sins would no doubt become his final undoing.

Did she have no care how she affected him?—how she tempted him? Was she truly that naïve in the ways of a male’s needs? Had she a clue, she sure as hell wouldn’t have thrown herself into his arms last night after the demon’s assault, gripping his waist in an unabashed embrace. Not since Anya, had a female clung to him so desperately, her thin, fragile body, so lush and soft in all the right places, stirring him in ways he’d been fighting to deny for far too long.

When she’d turned her face into his chest, inhaling his scent, it’d nearly been his undoing right then and there. The blood surging through his veins had headed south, and was yet to return. The unwelcomed ache in his groin now seemed to be a constant companion—a relentless reminder of what he wanted and would never have. For if he took her body, whether by manipulation or force, he couldn’t take her heart, and that thought burned through his veins like bitter poison.

Olivia wasn’t his, and he’d do well to remember that. It unnerved him, the way she stirred emotions he believed long dead and buried—making him feel things he hadn’t since…Anya. The thought of his dead wife sent a pang of guilt arrowing through his chest. Guilt over his failure to protect her tore at a conscience he didn’t realize he still possessed.

To skew these lines with Olivia would only take the focus off his mission—off his reason for living. He owed this to Anya—to his son, dead before he’d ever had a chance to draw his first breath. For over a century he’d lived for nothing but his revenge, and he’d be damned if he’d let this human waif fuck with his emotions another moment.

The more time he spent with her, the harder it was to reconcile what he had to do. Where in the hell was Liam, anyway? He’d been so confident it wouldn’t come to this, and now… Holy hell, the thought of raising a hand to her sat in his gut like a lead weight. And yet, there wasn’t any way around this. He had to have that stone—at all cost. He refused to believe Liam wouldn’t come for her.

To Haden’s credit, he’d tried the peaceable approach, but unfortunately, his efforts to help Olivia regain her memory had failed. He’d done what he could to help her, speaking far more freely and openly than he cared to. And as a result, he’d let her in, let her get closer to him than he’d allowed anyone for over a century. In that, he could see his folly, for now what he must do to force Liam’s hand may prove to be as painful as sticking a dagger into his own heart.

Casting an impatient scowl at the bathroom, he muttered a curse under his breath. How long could it possibly take to shower and get dressed? The blow dryer had been running for the last ten minutes. He pulled on his shirt that had seen better days and crossed the room in a few brisk steps, rapping his knuckles against the door. “Olivia,” he barked, not even trying to hide his frustration, “let’s go.”

The dryer quit and a few seconds later the door jerked open. The medicinal scent of cheap motel soap greeted him, along with the irate glare of his captive. “Excuse me if I had to wash my personals in the shower. If someone would have been thoughtful enough to pack a bag before abducting me, perhaps I wouldn’t be drying my underwear with a hairdryer.”

Shouldering past him, she paused in front of the mirror to sweep her long, inky tresses into a ponytail. Shooting him an angry glare from the mirror, she snapped, “So this is how it’s going to be now? I didn’t fuck you, so now you’re going to sulk about it and become an intolerable asshole again.”

His temper snapped. Acting on impulse, and perhaps the need to prove to himself that he had it in him to hurt her, Haden leapt toward Olivia, moving so fast she didn’t have time to dodge his grasp. Catching her by the throat, he marched her back until she slammed against the wall. As the back of her head smacked into the sheetrock, he steeled himself against the give-a-shit knotting in his gut and growled, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I’m not some weak, cock-driven human who lives and breathes for your pussy. My goals are much loftier than the desire to get in your pants.”

Her beautiful eyes widened to terror-filled orbs, and the pain twisting his gut soon became something akin to a swift kick in the balls. But he refused to cow to his conscience. Holding his grip firm, he tried to keep his eyes from straying to her heaving breasts spilling from the top of her stretched out tank-top. Her artery kicked against his thumb, her panicked breaths sawing in short rapid pants. Fuck, he wanted her.

To the female’s credit, she quickly tamped her fear, eyes narrowing to a verdant glare of seething hatred. “Could have fooled me.”

Her rasped retort tap danced on his nerve of truth. With a snarl of frustration, he released her and spun away before he did something they’d both regret. Marching to the door, he swung it open and stopped in the entryway. “Get in the car,” he commanded.

Shoulders stiff with righteous indignation, she stormed toward the door, stopping in front of him to snap, “If you ever put your hands on me like that again, I swear to God, you’ll be singing soprano until the Second Coming of Christ!”