Edge of Hunger (12 page)

"Not if you haven't had sex," she replied casually, gaze still focused on her task.

Ian went completely still for the span of ten seconds, then cursed something hot and foul under his breath. "Are you telling me that you haven't had sex in two years?"

"Well, I had the test done two years ago. But I think it's been more like three since I've been to bed with anyone." She flicked a quick glance at his face. "You know, it's not like being celibate is a crime."

"It should be," he grunted, unable to get his head around it. He'd known, instinctively, that she wasn't very experienced, but three years! How was that even possible? "Abstinence or celibacy or whatever the hell you want to call it isn't natural. If it was, we wouldn't have been given all the working parts that make fucking so much fun."

"That's such a guy thing to say," she snorted, shaking her head.

"Thank God," he drawled, completely deadpan. "If I start sounding like a chick, do me a favor and shoot me."

"Can't," she said lightly, and he could just glimpse the grin she was hiding in the corners of her mouth. "No gun."

"Me, neither. Don't believe in them. But we could always borrow Riley's."

There was a question in her eyes, but she didn't comment, and he didn't bother to explain.

Instead, he caught one of her curls, twining the honey-colored strand around his finger.

"Seriously, no sex for three years is just...wrong."

"So says the man who confesses to sleeping with women he doesn't even like, just so he can get his rocks off."

"Careful," he murmured, studying her through his lashes. "You sound jealous."

She rolled her eyes, smoothing on the antibiotic ointment. "Of nameless women you've used for meaningless sex? Hardly."

Ian shifted in the chair, not liking where this conversation was headed. "It's been a two-way street, Molly. They've used me as much as I used them."

"If it makes you feel better to believe that," she murmured, frowning as she stuffed the swabs and empty packets into a small plastic bag, "then go ahead. But I think you're selling yourself, and them, short."

She started to step away, but Ian reached out, grabbing her wrist again, careful to control his grip. "Speaking of selling people short, I should have listened to you before," he told her. "It would have made a difference. If I had, Kendra might still be alive."

MOLLY COULD SEE the sincerity in his eyes, the pain, and knew his regret was genuine.

Knew that though he might never admit it, Ian was mourning the loss of the woman who'd been so brutally murdered. It'd been all over the local news that day, speculation rampant as to what could've carried out such a brutal attack. Pulling out of his hold, she kept her tone soft as she said, "I'm just glad you're willing to believe me now."

Leaning forward in the chair, he braced his elbows on his spread knees, the rugged angles of his face hard with tension, the mouthwatering muscles beneath all that dark golden skin attesting to the power, to the strength, that few men could claim. He drew the eye like a fascinating, provocative work of art, making it impossible to look away.

"So talk to me," he said. "Tell me what you know."

She tossed the bag of rubbish into the trash bin, washed her hands again, then turned, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. "I almost don't know where to start."

"You said you came here because you didn't have a choice," he prompted. "I assume that was because of my mother. That you couldn't ignore her...requests that you come and find me."

"That's one way of putting it." The corner of her mouth twitched. "Elaina is definitely stubborn, as well as persistent."

"And you just believed her?" he questioned, the lingering shadow of doubt still visible in his eyes.

Shaking her head, Molly quietly said, "I gave up the luxury of disbelief a long time ago, Ian."

"So something like this has happened to you before?"

She nodded, hooking her hair behind her ear. "I can talk to spirits--to ghosts, as most people call them--when I'm sleeping. Or rather, they can sometimes talk to me. But this, what's been happening here, between us these last two nights. This is way out of my league. Way beyond normal, even for me."

He absorbed that for a moment, then quietly asked, "When did you first talk to Elaina's ghost?"

"A few months ago, not long after her death. She made contact then, but it took a while for her to come through clearly enough that I could understand her." She paused, and the attentive look in his eyes encouraged her to continue. "It's difficult to explain how it works. Most of the time, it just sounds like someone shouting at me through water. But if they're persistent, the messages become clearer with time. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I finally understood what Elaina was trying to tell me. That she wanted me to find you, warn you about the danger here, and find a way to make you believe. The bad news is that that was the easy part. The hard part, now that you do believe, is going to be learning how to survive."

"And just how am I supposed to do that?" he grunted, scrubbing his hands down his face.

She blew out a shaky breath. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't even know why this is happening or what's caused it to happen now. All I can tell you is that that monster won't stop hunting you. Not until one of you is dead. That's one of the things Elaina wishes she'd been able to tell you before she died. I guess she began to fear this might happen--that those creatures, the Casus, might return. And she believes that's the reason why the Merrick is finally awakening inside of you. Because of your bloodline, it's always been there, dormant.

Lying in wait. Now that one of its enemies is near, it will want to protect you from it."

"What about my brother and sister? Are they awakening, too?"

"Elaina believes they will, with time. But for now, you're the one that it wants. You're the beginning, but of what, she hasn't told me. I'm not even sure that she knows."

He leaned back in the chair, watching her. "And is this...this thing, this Merrick that's inside of me...is it evil?" he rasped out of a dry throat, the words scratchy and raw, and Molly knew what it cost him to ask her that question.

"No," she answered softly, honestly. "But..."

"It's not good, either," he said flatly, cutting her off. "They may be enemies of the Casus, but they're still killers. Predators."

"I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that they're not...tame," she argued, frustrated with him for putting words in her mouth. "They're more primal than humans. More visceral.

But they're inherently good. There's no way you would ever do anything to hurt anyone unless they deserved it."

Shaking his head, he rubbed one palm against the scratchy surface of his jaw, his expression saying that he wanted so badly to believe her, but was afraid. "Do you honestly believe that?"

"Yes." But Molly understood the power of his fear. Self-loathing worked in much the same way. Like acid in your veins that slowly consumed you from the inside out, leaving nothing but a rotten skeleton in its wake. She knew all about that kind of torture. She'd been living, writhing, within its cold, clammy grasp for years. "You could never hurt anyone, Ian," she said in a gentle voice, wishing he'd believe her...trust her.

Lowering his head, he turned over his right hand and stared at his upturned palm, rubbing the thumb of his left hand against its center, as if working out an ache. She knew he'd decided to change the subject when he said, "From what I remember of Elaina's stories, the Casus were a nasty piece of work. They get off on pain and fear. On agony and torture. That's what makes them tick."

"And this one is drawn to you," she told him, shuddering at the memory of the foul creature from his nightmare. "Elaina believes that it needs you, but she's not sure why."

The violent cracks of lightning from the rumbling storm were the perfect complement to the hard strain of his expression, and she wanted to walk to him. Wanted to take that ruggedly beautiful face between her palms, stroking the hollows of his cheeks with her thumbs, and press a comforting kiss to his knitted brow. But she didn't dare--and not because she didn't trust him.

No, it was her own irrational needs that she didn't trust.

He fisted his hand for a moment, then flexed his fingers, stretching them out, as if the simple gesture could release the heavy tension riding the rigid lines of his body. "So what now?"

"If you want to live, you need to learn how to bring it out. How to accept the change without fighting it."

His gaze flicked back up to her face, brows drawn in a deep V over those impossibly blue eyes. "And you think that's a good idea, after what I dreamed tonight? Whatever the fuck that thing was, Casus or not, what happened while I was fighting it wasn't pretty, Molly. This thing inside of me wanted to tear its throat out."

"You don't have a choice," she whispered. "You will fight it again, Ian, and when you do, you'll need to be on even ground. Your mother says that until you're able to accept what you are, you won't be able to defeat it. And who's to say that more won't come after him? I know this isn't what you wanted, but sometimes--sometimes we just have to accept the life we're given and learn to go on."

His gaze narrowed, piercing and dark. "And when I bring it out--if I'm even able to bring it out--how do we know I'll be able to control it? What if this thing, this Merrick, is hungry?"

Heat climbed its way up from the center of her chest, over her throat, into her cheeks, impossible to hide from him. "I don't think you would try to feed from me again," she said hoarsely. "Not unless we were having sex, like we were in the dreams."

He made one of those cocky, arrogant snorting sounds that only a guy could pull off. "You sure about that?"

"No, I'm not sure about anything right now. But what are you so afraid of? It didn't kill me in the dreams. So what makes you think it would try to hurt me in reality?"

He scrubbed his hands down his face, as if he could wipe away the bleak expression falling over him like a shadow. "You didn't see what that thing did to Kendra."

"But you're not like the Casus," she argued, wishing she could make him understand. "You're one of the good guys, Ian. One of the ones who saves the day, not destroys it."

His smile was bitter. "Trust me, Molly. I've never been one of the heroes."

"Your halo may be a little tarnished," she whispered, her mouth twisting with a wry smile,

"but you're not bad. I'd be willing to bet my life on it."

She could tell, instantly, from his grim expression that she'd said the wrong thing.

He stared at her for a long, hard moment, then suddenly surged to his feet so quickly that the chair crashed over backward behind him. "Christ, what is it with you?" he growled. "We only just met! You don't know me. I hardly know myself right now!"

"I know you came here tonight to make sure I was okay," she pointed out in a calm, quiet voice, "even though you don't like me."

He growled low in his throat, his muscles bulging beneath the golden sheen of his skin as he shoved his hands back through his hair, then let them fall loosely to his sides. "And after that dream, maybe I only came here because I wanted the chance to get in your pants again."

"Considering the shape you were in when I opened the door," she murmured, unfazed by his anger, "you're going to have a tough time selling me that one."

"And what if I do hurt you?" he demanded, crossing his arms over the broad width of his chest. "What then, Molly?"

"You won't."

He ground his teeth so hard that a muscle ticked in his jaw, then finally said, "That's a helluva risk you're willing to take for a total stranger. I can't help but wonder why."

She hesitated, her gaze sliding away for a moment, before she forced herself to meet the dark primal intensity of his stare. "Why isn't important. What's important is that I'm staying to see this through to the end."

"Even though the Casus threatened you?" he rasped, studying her determined expression.

"You're the one in danger now, Molly. That changes everything."

She lifted her chin, refusing to back down. "I knew the risk when I came here, Ian. It doesn't change anything."

"It damn well should," he muttered, his jaw clenched, head lowered as he cut a sharp glare toward the floor. Another jarring, violent crack of lightning shook the thin walls of the motel, and she jumped, drawing his shadowed, heavy-lidded stare back to her face. Slowly, he shook his head, as if he didn't know what to make of her. "I think you're out of your mind, Molly, but it doesn't matter. Even if you wanted to run, I wouldn't let you. Not now. Not after tonight. There's no telling how far this thing, this Casus, would go to get his hands on you.

Until this is over," he told her in a dark, angry slide of words, "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

MALCOLM DEKREZNICK, the Casus who had stolen tall, blond and blue-eyed Joe Kelly's body strolled down the empty sidewalk in Henning without a care in the world. He enjoyed the warmth of the hot summer day, a new pair of designer sunglasses protecting his sensitive eyes from the bright glare of sunshine raining down from above. The summer storm had moved on with daybreak, the rustic mountain community quiet and still, but then it was Sunday morning, many of the residents attending religious services. His mouth twisted with a wry smile at the thought of all their pious prayers and earnest devotion, knowing that if he were to choose them, he could end their pitiful existence with such ridiculous ease it was hardly worth the effort. Like blowing out a flame. Poof. And the light was gone.

They could pray all they wanted for Kendra Wilcox's immortal soul, but it wasn't going to change her fate. It wasn't going to bring her back. Malcolm had made sure that once he got his hands on her, there'd been little left to put in the ground.

Crossing the street, a low rumble of satisfaction warmed his throat as he thought of the kill.

The brunette bitch had been so much more exciting than the coarse animal fare that had sustained him since his return. She'd not only tasted sweeter, but he'd been able to "blood fuck" her, which had always been Malcolm's favorite way to feed. And the way she'd fought him had only made it that much more satisfying.