Death's Lover (15 page)

S
he was going to call in sick. How in the world did her sisters expect her to make it to their outing after such a high? Nothing could compare to what she’d experienced with Cian.

Absolutely nothing.

It had been an earth-shattering, mind-blowing—so much for not giving in to clichés—kiss. Actually it had been so powerful that she was more frightened than excited.

Never in her life had she doubted her absolute love for Michael. He’d always been
the one
. She wasn’t looking for love, or even a long-term relationship. Been there, done that. All she’d wanted was someone to hang out with. Keep the loneliness at bay, so to speak.

Instead, what she’d felt had gone deeper than any emotion she’d ever known at her husband’s hands or touch. Michael had been fireworks, where Cian was lava. Nothing Michael had ever done in their ten years could compare to what she’d felt with the vamp. The merest contact of lips on lips, bodies pressed against bodies. Right there in that moment she’d have done anything for him, and that had scared the ever-living daylight out of her.

Confused, she’d mumbled a pathetic apology and had run off, demons of her past chasing at her heels.

The look on his face right before she’d run off—brows lowered and blue eyes glittering with doubt—made her ache.

What had she done? Now he was going to think she was either really crazy or not worth the time and effort. Neither thought brought an iota of comfort.

More miserable than ever, she groaned, dropping her head into her hands, and leaned back deeper into her couch, the gentle flicker of an aromatic candle the only light in her apartment.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She’d all but begged for that kiss. Had wanted it from the moment she’d laid eyes on the sinful temptation of his body.

Painful memories filled her head. Michael, broken and lifeless, smiling and always teasing her about being such a nerd for liking history the way she did. But those thoughts were turning fuzzy, unclear, and unfocused.

Pictures of Cian kept crowding her mind. Dazzling blue eyes, ridiculously long ebony-and-frost-colored hair, a body to make a wicked heart melt.

“Oh goddess. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not so fast. Not so soon.”

She couldn’t shake the sense of betrayal, that somehow her enjoyment of the kiss, of his touch, had lessened the beauty of what she and Michael had shared.

He’d been her first love. Reckless, wild passion—they couldn’t get their hands off each other in the first year. It had all been so perfect.

So why did that pale in comparison to the stolen moment on the beach? She ground her jaw, feeling sick at heart. It had been her idea to take Cian to the beach, to play with him the way she had. She was responsible for that kiss happening, had very nearly orchestrated the entire thing.

The cold, harsh truth was she wanted Cian more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

Love charms never brought about this type of bottomless passion, only lust that, once sated, went away almost immediately. She’d be tempted to think magick was somehow involved. How else could she explain the immediate attraction and feelings that veered more toward love than lust? Charms couldn’t do this. It just wasn’t possible.

And no matter what, she refused to believe in love at first sight. That was hokey romance babble, nothing more.

So if not first sight and not a charm, then what?

The shrill ring of the phone yanked her from her thoughts. She yelped and, with panicked fingers, picked up the phone, nearly dropping it in her haste.

“Hello?”

“Eve, honey, Tam and I are waiting at the apartment. You coming or what?”

The static of female laughter and melodic music filtered through the line.

It was Celeste, and suddenly the idea of spending a Friday night alone, and only at ten thirty at that, made her feel lousy. She also wasn’t in the mood to go to any clubs and make polite chitchat with drunk men whose only concern was whether they’d get into her pants or not.

“Can we change plans and you guys come here instead?” She twisted the cord around her finger, hoping her sisters weren’t too dead set on going to the club tonight.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Instantly Celeste’s voice turned from jovial to worried.

She shook her head, staring off into space. “I’m just a little bummed is all.”

“Eve, you stay there. Tam and I are on our way. We’ll be there in ten minutes. You just hold on.” Then the line went dead.

She hung up the phone and walked to her window, gazing out at the starry night, wondering where Cian was and what he was thinking.

Cian punched on the light in Lise’s flat, squinting to adjust to the sudden brightness. What had just happened? Everything had been going well, at least he’d thought.

He’d tasted panic inside her, known something was happening, but for the life of him he couldn’t begin to explain what had made her turn from sultry sex kitten to frightened colt between the span of two heartbeats.

“Bloody fool,” he spat and shoved blunt fingers through his sand-encrusted hair. How was he supposed to know what to do or even say anymore? This wasn’t something he’d ever expected or believed could happen.

Shedding his clothing with a swipe of his hand, he stalked toward the couch and plopped down. He could still taste her. Smell her all over him. She was on his skin. Tongue. The woman had crawled into his brain. Denying that he felt something for her was a joke; it was more than just something…it was all-consuming.

How the hell did mortals do it? Why would they fall in love when it brought nothing but angst and misery? Worst part was no matter how much he might want to walk away and forget Eve and anything closely associated with her, he still had a job to do. Keep her safe.

He ground his jaw from side to side. Already he sensed a madness creeping around the corners inside him, a shadow coming to life and breathing down his neck.

His nostrils flared and he scrubbed a tired hand down his face.

Regardless of what Eve felt—or didn’t feel—for him, he’d see her safe or die trying. That was a vow sealed in blood.

First things first, he needed a shower and as cold as possible, to not only get the sand off his flesh but the lust out his veins.

Maybe this was for the best. At least now he could concentrate on how to see her safe, rather than the lush curves of her body.

He stood and stalked toward the hallway, raging hard-on clearly evident and making him cranky. Blue carpet muffled his footsteps; he passed a bedroom, glanced inside, and moved on. It took a second for his brain to process what he’d seen. When it did, he narrowed his eyes and backed up.

No, no trick of the light.

There, lying in the center of a windowless room, sat a gray stone coffin. Nothing else around it, no knickknacks, bookshelves, cluttered desk, nothing. The room was bare save for the casket. He walked up to the tomb. The preternatural strength of his eyes seeing things humans could not. There were Celtic runes inscribed along the length of the pewter-colored stone. Markings of death and blood.

He passed his hand along the top of the coffin. Tendrils of heat saturated his palm. A dull greenish glow encased the stone. This was a genuine, honest-to-goddess vampire’s sarcophagus. Not the kind normals bought to bury their dead, but the kind used for the soulless living.

His lips twitched. Damn if Lise didn’t think of everything. On the off chance Eve decided to test the coffin’s magick, she’d feel the radiating pulse of it vibrate straight to her bone. He frowned. Not that that mattered now.

He stalked off to the shower, shoving his hand over his cock and trying to get it to go down. Already his balls were beginning to ache and drive him crazy.

He stepped into the shower and turned the faucet on as hot as it would go. Steam gathered around his ankles, circled up to his head. Visions of Eve swam in his brain.

The feel of her body on him. Desire coursed a dangerous trek down his veins and into his already-engorged cock. Grinding his jaw, he took himself in hand and began rubbing.

The way she’d tasted, like candy and a hint of wine. Exotic appeal. He leaned his free hand against the wall, his muscles clenching and his breathing turning ragged.

That sultry smile and lioness gaze. He pumped harder, the pressure building. His body was on fire and quaking. Close. He hissed, on the verge of a violent explosion.

Ebony hair. Pale porcelain skin. The feel of full breasts pushed against his chest. His legs trembled and he gnashed his teeth.

He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d taste like. Would she be wet for him and only him? He rubbed harder. The way he got hard only for her. There was no one else, nothing else that could do to him what she did.

His back spasmed and his fingers clenched the warm tile. He imagined the spray running down his back was her fingers, that it wasn’t his hand on his cock but hers. He pumped harder. Faster. Dizzy with his lust, mad with desire, he pumped and pumped until his seed poured from his body.

“Eve,” he groaned, the rushing tide of his orgasm made him weak. He leaned against the wall panting for breath. The hot water scalded his skin. He turned the tap to cold. Frigid enough to burn her from his mind, but her mark was already imprinted on his soul.

T
wo—heavy on the Cuervo—margaritas and nearly a whole bag of chips and salsa later, Eve was still no closer to feeling better.

“I really screwed up.”

“Gah, Eve.” Celeste rolled her eyes, the coral-pink mask on her face making her look more clownish than aggravated. “You’re killing me. If you like this guy so much, go find him, have sex, and get it over with. Put us all out our misery, please.”

“Jeez.” Tamryn punched Celeste in the arm.

“Hey!”

“Your sympathy is so heartwarming, Cel. I think we could all learn a thing or two from you. Sheesh.” Tamryn lifted a red brow, disgust thinning her rose-colored lips. “Listen, Eve. If you like the guy, call him.”

“It’s not that simple. I never got his number. Just an idea of where he lives.” She twisted her lips, dipping yet another tortilla chip into the chunky salsa. The tip snapped off into the bowl. Growling, she shoved the dip aside and laid her hair-rollered head back down onto her body pillow.

“I’m sorry, guys. I’m pathetic. Since when did I become so mopey? I hate people like that!”

Celeste laid her hand on Eve’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Look, I’m sorry for being so cruel”—she shot Tamryn the evil eye—“I was only playing.”

“You know, Eve…” Tamryn scooted closer, the cotton between her painted toes looking ready to fall out. “I think this might be guilt—well, heck, I don’t think, I
know
. You don’t have to feel guilty about falling for someone else. It’s been two years.…”

“I know that.” Eve rubbed her hand down her arm, a nervous habit she’d picked up trying to hide her projections. Like it really did any good. “It’s more.”

Violet eyes huge with understanding stared up at her. Tamryn gave a slow nod. “I see.”

“What? See what?” Celeste narrowed malachite eyes, and confusion pinched her brows.

Eve blew out a tired breath and sat up, clutching the pillow to her chest and staring at the black-and-white Humphrey Bogart on the screen.
Casablanca
, one of her all-time favorite movies, was playing on mute. Didn’t matter; she could almost recite every line of that film by heart. Now,
that
was a love story.

She reached into her brown paper sack of old taffy, pulled one out, and thought of Cian when she bit down into the Neapolitan.

“Celeste, are you sure you belong to this family? You sure can be dense sometimes.”

Tamryn reached over to the coffee table, grabbed the remote, and shut off the television, forcing Eve to concentrate on their conversation and not tune them out the way she really wanted to do.

“It’s stronger, Eve, isn’t it?” She paused, searching Eve’s face. “The bond with him is stronger than Michael.”

Celeste frowned and glanced toward her. Eve rolled her eyes but nodded.

“Well, so what.” Celeste stood and began gathering the empty glasses and bowls and headed into the kitchen. She tended to get tidy when discussing Eve’s love life. “Eve, we all know how much you loved Michael, him most of all, I’m sure.” She dumped the dishes into the sink, grabbed the tea kettle, and filled it up with tap water. “It’s okay. You’re one of the lucky ones to find not only one but two great loves. Or Cian might be a rebound and that could be where these feelings are stemming from. But you’re a smart girl, and I think we all know that’s probably not the case.”

She twisted her lip, nibbling on it. “You guys wanna hear something pretty heavy?”

“Yuh-huh,” Tamryn nodded, wavy red hair bobbing up and down, “you know I do.”

“I just bet you do, busybody.” Eve snorted.

Celeste placed the kettle on the stove and walked back into the living room, plopping down on the floor Indian-style.

“Whew, okay.” She lifted her hand, her eyes glazing over for a second. “Remind me never to move that fast when the room’s spinning.”

They laughed, the alcohol beginning to make even the ordinary funny by that point. Breathless and lighthearted, Eve hiccupped. It was always so good to be around her sisters. They had a way of showing her things were never really that bad, life went on, and what happened today need not rule your life tomorrow. Good to be reminded of that sometimes.

“So, you were saying?” Tamryn asked when they finally quieted down. She pointed her blackberry-colored toenails toward the ceiling and waved her hand over them, trying her best to speed up the drying process.

Pressure was starting to build inside the kettle. A low-pitched vibration rattled the stove.

“I think what totally freaked me out about the whole thing was that in that moment I realized Michael could hardly begin to compare with the vampire. And might I add”—she widened her eyes, holding up a finger—“a perfect stranger at that. That’s so unlike me. I’m careful. Play it safe. I don’t fall in love at the drop of a dime. This is different, as if I don’t have a choice in the matter, and it’s all happening so fast, my head’s spinning. I feel like this is totally out of my control, and I’m not sure I like that.”

Heavy silence met her statement. Tamryn could only blink. Celeste didn’t bat an eye, just stared.

The teakettle whistled. Its shrill scream snapped them out of their trances.

Eve leaped, heart nearly jerking from her chest.

Celeste jumped up and ran to shut it off. The ice-pick-stabbing-in-your-brain noise died with a pitiful little wail. Then she began piddling around in the kitchen, opening drawers and slamming cupboards.

“Then you shouldn’t ignore that, and as a witch you know this,” Tamryn chided, not missing a beat. “Sounds to me like you’re trying to be the control freak again. We all know life is predestined. What will be will be. You learned that with Michael.”

“I know.” She huffed a stray lank of ebony hair out her eye. “But what if I’m wrong? I could be. I have been in the past.”

Celeste came in carrying a tray with three steaming teacups on it. She handed one to each of them, then took her own and sat in the recliner. The warm, relaxing scent of chamomile circled the room.

“And what if he is?” Celeste asked, taking a tentative sip of the brew. “We can play that what-if game forever. You know it, I know it, so let’s do ourselves the favor and not.”

“You know I hate to agree with anything Scrooge says, but she’s right, Eve.”

She gazed into the amber liquid in her cup. Her sisters were right. This was all beginning to give her a headache. The back-and-forth and freaking out. Over what? That she found a guy stimulating, not only physically, but mentally. He was a mystery and yet at the same time there was this innate sense that she knew him. He was one of the good guys, vampire or no.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I never got his number or address. And I seriously doubt he’s going to be looking up psycho chick any time soon.”

Eve took a sip of her tea but wrinkled her nose at the heat scalding her tongue. She’d never liked tea hot, preferring it tepid or even on the cool side. Something her sisters had always called a disgusting habit.

“That’s what you thought the other night, and he came back. I think you’d be surprised. If this really is predestined, then nothing under the sun can stop it from happening.”

“Whoa, getting all existential on us now, are you, Cel?” Tamryn teased, tossing a pillow at Celeste’s head. It landed with a soft plop, dribbling tea over the cup’s rim and onto her shirt. Her pink face twisted into a frightening mask of cracks.

“Tam!” she shrieked and threw the pillow back, missing by a good yard. “I swear you act like you’re fifteen instead of twenty-five.”

Eve shuddered. “I think you should go take that stuff off now, Cel; it’s starting to drop into your tea. Yuck.”

Indeed little pink flecks were falling into the cup.

With a growl Celeste stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door in her wake.

Tamryn snorted, making Eve laugh and remember the look on Celeste’s face. One of loathing and uppity snobbery. Her sister was a hot mess.

She held her stomach and wheezed between bouts of giggles, “That was really mean, Tam.”

“Bah. She’s too serious. Needs to lighten up. Anyhow, I was thinking—”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one.”

The sound of rushing water filtered through the hallway. Eve tasted the tea again; this time it was cool enough to be drinkable.

“What if we did a séance?”

“For what?”

“To find out his address, of course.”

“Yeah, well”—she set the cup and saucer down—“not that I don’t appreciate it, but isn’t that a little Hollywood? I mean, we can find it without the hocus-pocus. I’m sure he’s in the phone book.”

“I’m sure we could, genius.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. “But you’re forgetting the little matter of not knowing his last name.”

Eve opened her mouth then snapped it shut, frowning. Come to think of it, she’d never learned his last name.

Celeste huffed and entered the living room. “What’s this about a séance?”

“Bionic ears…” Tamryn shot Eve a quick she’s-so-weird look. “I was just saying that we should do a séance to divine where this hot vamp lives.”

At that Celeste perked up and nodded, planting her hands on her hips. “Sounds good. We haven’t done anything in a while, feeling a little rusty. How ’bout it, sis?”

“If everyone else wants to, then I guess when in Rome, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Both sisters nodded.

Eve sighed, stood, and walked to her cupboard full of candles and herbs. Not that she didn’t want to do this—okay…who was she kidding? She didn’t want to do this.

Yet somehow she would, always did whenever her sisters were involved. She grabbed five tall white candles and one thick black one. The dark candle was inscribed with the ritual symbols of power, in its center a pentagram. This would consecrate the magick circle. Finally, she also grabbed a premeasured packet of sage, cedar, mugwort, and sweet grass, cleansing herbs to make them ritually ready to enter the world of spirits.

Tamryn jumped up and ran to the bedroom, she came back out a moment later with a gem-encrusted dagger. Celeste pushed the coffee table and sofa farther back.

All three came together. Eve placed the white candles at strategic spots, lit them, and then stepped inside the center of the circle, holding on to the dark candle still. Tamryn lifted the dagger and drew a five-pointed star through the air.

The room grew heavy around them, dense with power. It rippled like the tides of the sea.

“I’m not as good with the ley lines as you are, Eve. But I think this’ll hold just fine,” she said, the tip of her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth. With a nod, she sat and the rest followed.

“Now, let’s cleanse ourselves and then do this,” Celeste said with a happy smile.

Eve sat the black candle down between them and pulled the dried, bunched herbs out the packet. Four separate knotted herbs fell out. With a regular cigarette lighter, she lit the tip of the sage first. A dark curl of smoke ribboned through the air.

“Sage to drive out the evil and keep out negative thoughts,” all three said, voices going deeper with the invocation of magick.

Eve waved the herb through the air, allowing the smoke to filter under noses. They didn’t want to breathe it in, only have the essence pass along their skin. The rest would take care of itself.

“Cedar to bless this home.”

She repeated the same process, then lit the sweet grass.

“Sweet grass to welcome in good influence.”

Lighting the mugwort, Eve didn’t wave it under noses, but rather let the plant burn down in her hand. Its smoke was a hallucinogenic; not much was needed for its effect. This was what opened the portal between the physical and spiritual realms.

She closed her eyes, already light-headed from the drinking and now becoming a little groggy from the herb. One last step, then the spirits would speak with them.

“Light the black candle, Eve,” Tamryn hissed.

A chill zipped up her spine. Already Eve felt the spirits around them; she couldn’t hear or see them, but they were definitely there. The air itself was thick with the presence of beings. The room was growing steadily cooler, making her break out in goose bumps. What if Michael showed up?

Her heart lurched. He might not, there was no way to know who would and wouldn’t show. It all depended on the whim of the spirit.

“Won’t this make me look stalkerish?” Eve asked—anything to stall and give herself a little more time to gather her courage.

Celeste laughed. “A little.”

That was the last thing she wanted. Maybe there was another way, one that did not involve the possibility of seeing her dead husband.

Fingers yanked the lighter from out her hands. She opened her eyes to see Tamryn lighting the black candle. “Too late to back out now, Eve. You’ll thank me later.”

The last wick flared to life and the room gave a loud shudder. Floorboards groaned and a spiraling helix of iridescence opened before them. Many nearly translucent bodies spewed forth.

Old, fat, young, thin. Boys, men, girls, women. They all came. Some yawning, others glaring murderously at the women.

“What do you want?” a woman looking to be in her midtwenties demanded. Fat curls bounced around her head. She was dressed in colonial period garb, an old soul. Usually only the more recent dead chose to speak, and they tended to be the most unreliable sources.

Spirits were naughty, no other word for it.

If there was one thing in life Eve was good at, though, it was her magick, and speaking with the dead was a particular specialty of hers.

She narrowed her eyes. “One thing. Where can I find the vamp called Cian?”

“And what do I get in return for this bit of information?”

Always tit for tat. You’d think the undead wouldn’t be so stingy. Greedy little buggers.

“How ’bout bespelled into a doll, wench?” Celeste snapped. She’d never had patience for the folly of the spirits. What was so ironic was that Celeste actually loved to séance.

The spirit huffed and stomped a dainty foot, her skirt flouncing with the movement. “I don’t like you, witch. You get nothing from me.”

The air was growing colder, crisper, as more and more spirits surged through the portal. Eve’s teeth chattered. She was ready to get this thing over with.