Firestorm: Heart of a Vampire #5 (13 page)

“We need to get out of here,” she said quietly.

“Not yet.”

A low moan came from the deep inky blackness stretching between buildings. Eric glanced that way, but stayed where he was, protecting her back.

She searched the gloom, finally picking up a telltale flash of reflected light. “Who’s there?”

Metal clattered to the ground, then shuffled steps came toward them. The reflection was a flash of eyes. They drew closer until she could make out the silhouette of a man. Of average height and with a slim build, he didn’t seem exactly threatening.

The cold breeze slowed and she picked up his scent. Mortal human. But there was something else. Something was... off.

With a quick glance at Eric, who looked as confused as she felt, she headed towards the man. He stepped into the light, then stood there, swaying as if controlled by the wind.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

The man stared at the SUV as if he didn’t hear her.

To Eric, she said, “Help me take him inside. Something’s wrong.”

As she reached for the guy’s arm, he slashed his hand at her, nearly faster than she could see, even with her beyond-mortal senses. Pain singed over her palm and she jumped back as the man tried to cut her again.

He held a wickedly curved blade, about eight inches long, shaped like a crescent moon. On the outer arc, the blade was serrated to the sharp tip.

Eric rushed to the man’s side and grabbed his wrist, jerking it up and squeezing.

His bones broke with an audible snap. The man didn’t make a sound, nor did he drop the knife though it must have been nearly impossible to keep hold of it with a broken wrist.

The man spun and with his free hand, clawed at Eric’s face.

Cat clutched his arm, glancing at Eric as they held the stranger pinned between them. The man struggled, but was no match for their strength. Through it all, he was nearly silent, only uttering an occasional low moan. Not of pain, she didn’t think, though she couldn’t really describe the emotion conveyed in those low, guttural sounds.

As he continued to jerk like a fish trapped on a line, a piece of glowing wire tumbled from his pocket.

She exchanged a doubly confused glance with Eric. “How could this man be responsible?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, staring at the stranger. “But I’m going to find out. Help me get him to the SUV.”

They shuffled the man to the back of the vehicle. Eric set his axe down, then from a long black bag, pulled out a thick, lengthy cable of rope.

“Are you always this prepared to tie someone up?” she asked.

“Always.” After tying some knots around the stranger’s broken wrist, Eric tightened both hands behind the man’s back.

“Now what?” She had a feeling she already knew.

“Argus might be able to do something with this guy, but I don’t trust the good doctor. We’re taking him with us.” Attaching a secure lead rope to the man’s shackled wrists, Eric handed the end to her to hold.

From the same long black bag, he grabbed a metal box and what looked like a heavy-duty oven mitt, though this one was covered with small squares of metal, like some sort of chain mail. Slipping it on, he headed for the passenger doors and used it to remove the glowing wires, which he put in the box.

He went to the driver’s side and removed those as well. After replacing the box and oven mitt in the back of the car, he glanced at her. “I’ll sit in the back seat with this guy. You drive.”

* * *

Cat pulled in front of her house, teeth on edge from the mortal’s constant grunts and low whines. He’d continued to jerk around the back seat the entire drive, making those primal sounds. She’d finally realized they were from frustrated anger—not pain or any fear, just pure fury. The urge to kill her and Eric.

It was as if he’d lost his mind, and, unable to think, had become driven by instinct and need.

Eric jumped out of the SUV, dragging the man behind him.

She led the way into the house. Blake lay on the living room couch, fast asleep. She left the guard as Eric headed for the basement door. They put the man in the last cell, as far from the still unconscious Irish as possible.

Near an iron wrought bed frame against the far wall hung a set of chains, with a matching set near the floor. Eric maneuvered their deranged captive in place, shackling his wrists and ankles.

The man, sensing more mobility, lunged, snapping his teeth.

“Hey!” Eric jumped back, shaking his head in disbelief. “First time a human ever tried to bite
me
.”

Cat’s humor popped up and she replied, “Never? Interesting.”

When he glanced at her, she winked. His cheeks flushed with a hint of red before he scowled and sent her a stern glance.

After cleaning up and grabbing a quick drink of nourishing blood, they spent over an hour questioning the man.

“Who sent you?...”

“Why attack us?...”

They got nothing from him other than grunts and wheezy whines.

Blake woke up and came to help, but eventually left, saying he could be more use guarding the city.

Finally, frustrated beyond belief, Cat laid a hand on Eric’s arm. He didn’t draw away from her touch. “Come. We need to eat. Replenish our strength. We can decide what to do with him after.”

The man continued to struggle to get free.

With a sigh, Eric nodded and followed her upstairs and into the kitchen.

He assessed the chef-quality appliances and features while she grabbed a pitcher of spiced blood from the warmer and poured them both a glass.

“You cook much?” he asked, as she pulled out an array of food from the refrigerator and began making omelets.

“It’s enjoyable.” Keeping in mind his appetite, she whipped up a couple omelets for him to start with. With all the injuries that his body had began healing, he needed the fuel.

She gasped when he brushed against her back. Glancing over her shoulder, she met his gaze. He was close, but didn’t quite touch her. He leaned over, looking into the skillet.

“Y-yes?” she asked shakily, then bit her lower lip at how she sounded.

He grinned, a full-blown smile of amusement and she lost her breath completely. It transformed him from the serious, cranky relic she’d come to know. The laugh lines around his wide lips and crystal clear blue eyes lit up.

He wasn’t just handsome. The man was devastatingly sexy.

“Just wondering if I could get some bacon with my eggs.” He stepped back and moved around the island to the fridge.

Taking a deep breath at how much he’d managed to stir her, she said breezily, “Sure. Top drawer.”

She didn’t know if he’d tried to throw her off guard on purpose or not. But she definitely wanted to find out.

He chopped up some bacon, set it on a plate and brought it to her, this time keeping his distance. When his omelets were finished, she cooked four more for him, then made her own.

He finished eating when she was barely half done.

“Did you taste it or just inhale?” she asked, taking another bite.

He crooked an eyebrow. “They were very good, thank you.”

Like some schoolgirl, she couldn’t stop heat rushing to her cheeks. Hastily, she wolfed down another bite.

He waited until she was done, then stood and began cleaning up. Shocked, she watched him move around her kitchen, doing dishes and wiping the counters like a natural.

And she hid a smile. His gruffness was a complete ruse. The man was no throwback to a caveman, he just liked pretending to be.

When he was done, he refilled their cups and sat across from her, turning his mug between his massive hands.

The air filled with tension stretched tight enough to snap at any second.

“What?” she asked, taking a drink to drown out all her many other questions.

Eric opened his mouth, shut it. Met her gaze, glanced away. Fidgeting with his cup, he finally answered. “I won’t torture the man.” His eyes were downcast, his jaw tense.

“Okay,” she replied slowly.

“I don’t know if he has any information we need. But I won’t do it.” His voice was full of shame as if he was letting her down.

And she suddenly understood something about the haunted darkness she constantly saw in his eyes.

Someone, sometime—recently by the look of it—had hurt him.

Terribly.

Her thoughts whirled. How to answer him without making him feel worse?

When he finally met her gaze, she said softly, honestly, “I don’t go in for torture myself.”

He searched her face as if unbelieving.

“There are many ways to get information from someone that doesn’t involve hurting them. That practice was barbaric when it was considered normal, much more so now.”

He straightened a little. “My brother has always done the job when our king asked. I have disagreed with those tactics my whole life, though I’ve never told them.”

Her heart fluttered as he revealed what was obviously a closely held secret. Toying with her cup, she shared her thoughts, though she prayed she was wrong. “I think the man’s condition was brought on by magic. Torturing him would accomplish nothing, if that’s the case.”

“Magic?” he repeated.

Another clue. Not only had whoever hurt him done so physically, they must have used magic as well. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have noticed her use of fire while fighting the woods. Not that it was magic, at least not exactly. But he was going to hate what she had to say next. “I know someone who can verify if I’m right.”

Sure enough, he stiffened like someone had shoved a hot poker up his ass. “A witch. Only they could see it.”

“Sort of.”

He was already shaking his head. “No. I’ll call the Judge I know. Connor can come out. I was going to ask him here anyway to help deal with the wolf in town.”

She didn’t push. “All right.”

He searched her face, as if again looking for some sign she thought him weak for his reactions.

Chapter Fourteen

E
ric couldn’t believe this woman. She hadn’t blinked an eye when he’d mentioned his inability to torture a prisoner. She hadn’t even pried about his resistance to going to see a witch who might have answers to at least part of this mystery.

She didn’t seem to think him the coward that he knew he was. Instead, she flowed with it. Yet, there was a shadow in her eyes that said maybe she understood him... too much.

And he didn’t know why that fact didn’t scare the shit out of him. Instead, it felt kind of... nice. Someone knowing, and accepting such things, even if he couldn’t accept them himself.

His heart thumped loudly, echoing in his head, as she watched him. Her lush mouth drew his attention. She licked her strawberry lips, leaving them dewy, shining with an inviting wetness he wanted to taste again.

He grew instantly hard, aching with need. Jumping to his feet, he threw out, “I’ll go make the call,” then fled. She made him feel too many things he damn well needed to ignore.

He wasn’t here to lust after the woman he was supposed to be protecting. That kind of thing would only interfere with his concentration. With his duty.

In his room, he pulled out his cell phone and called Connor. After a brief conversation, he hung up and stared at the door for a long moment, before he felt in control of his mind and body enough to join her downstairs.

Cat sat in the drawing room. She’d started a fire in the massive fireplace. Flames flickered, casting their soft light over her face. She leaned back in a recliner, legs drawn up beneath her. Her long hair hung down as she combed through it with her fingers.

Her hair was fire, a deep crimson, but like the flames, streaked with lighter shades of reds and golds.

She took his breath away. His body tightened, fists clenched as the urge to pounce on her filled him. Slowly, he took a couple cautious steps. When he was certain he was in control enough not to sweep her up and carry her upstairs to his bed, he strode to the recliner opposite of her.

Sitting, he kept his eyes on the fire, though he still saw her hair in his mind.

“Is your friend coming?” she asked.

“Possibly,” he bit out the reply. “He’s going to try to come, anyway.”

“When?”

He fisted his hands tighter. “A week at the earliest. Connor can’t make it before then.”

“Okay,” she said softly, non-judgmentally.

It made it easier to speak the decision he’d already made upstairs. “We’ll go see your witch.”

He risked a glance her way, and was rewarded by her sun-filled smile.

“Her name is Jezamine. She’s a priestess serving the gods of old.” Cat’s smile dimmed, then returned. “Niki knows the old woman. In fact, it was Jezamine who sent Niki out to Arizona.”

“How?” he croaked, though the fact Niki knew this woman did provide him some comfort, which he figured was why Cat had told him.