Killer Temptation (13 page)

“Thanks.” The young werewolf nodded and strolled back to his tribe.

Tristan rolled his eyes. And he thought he had drama. Heading for the exit, he snatched a lantern from the table and climbed the old stone steps. With the lit lamp in one hand, he wiped the sweaty palm of the other down the front of his coat. Nerves raked him from the notion of facing Brianna.

How would she react this time? Ignore him again? Throw a tantrum? Demand to be set free? Or would she give him a smile. The smile he remembered from when they first met. A smile he’d do anything to see again. Did she wait to run into his arms, beg him to make love to her?
Ha, not in this lifetime
.

He turned the wrought iron handle and opened the door, but didn’t expect to find a sleeping Brianna. He took a few steps toward the bed. Instead of the firm jaw and scrunched brows he saw every time he glanced her way, her features were softened and relaxed. Who could blame her? She had to be exhausted.

Cynthia stood from a chair in the far corner. “How did the conference go?”

“It went rather well. No one confessed to the small incident, but the leader apologised on behalf of the tribe for any discomfort. They even pledged their loyalty to us for future matters. I believe we have a strong alliance with the Wahyu wolf pack now. ”

“I’m glad.” Cynthia shut her eyes and turned away.

“Yes, you can lay your worries to rest, Cynthia. All is well between the werewolves and the vampires.” If only he could say the same for the witches. “Other than that, the rest of the meeting was rather dull.”

One curved brow cocked. “That’s unlike you to find it dull.”

True, but it also wasn’t like him to feel so lost in his own world. Feeling lost wasn’t as terrible as not knowing how long he had to live. Or knowing the one able to save him would rather laugh as she sent him to his death. “You may leave now, Cynthia. Please return soon with some dresses for Brianna.”

“Dresses?”

“Yes. I want to provide her with a new wardrobe. Not only that, but two nights from now, Lord Sylvestre will hold a
moitié
ball for Brianna and myself.”

“I will make sure the dresses fit the occasion.” She gave a curt nod, but stopped at the threshold.

“Is there something else?”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes wide and lost. A moment passed in silence. “No, nothing. Goodnight.” The door clicked shut, and he was at last alone.

He traipsed over to the side of his bed, then knelt on the floor. Moments passed as he viewed the slow and steady breathing of the sleeping woman. Strands of her hair covered her face. He extended a tentative hand and tucked them behind her ear. A wise choice would be to place his hand back by his side, but he was unable to control his fingers stroking tiny patterns along her smooth jaw. His chest constricted at the thought of her never feeling the way he did.

He wouldn’t use this time with Brianna to argue or exact revenge. Yes, she tried to kill him. And yes, he might never understand her reasons, but he was stronger than his vengeful instincts. He wanted to woo, not frighten, cherish, not anger or upset her. If he could share only a few nice moments with her, that would at least be better than none. He owed this to himself after all these years, and more so he owed it to Brianna. The experience of having a
moitié
wasn’t as enjoyable as he’d predicted, but he didn’t regret finding the one person in this world who was born for him.

Tristan bent forward and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. If he could freeze time, he would. “I’m not afraid of starving to death for a taste of your blood. But, knowing you can never love me…well, that’s a far worse reality than death. So, for your sake, I hope you don’t feel this connection between us, because the last thing I want is for you to suffer from guilt or grief or
anything
when I die.”

She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch in her sleep. Good. He could never gain the courage to say what he did if she were conscious. “I love you,
ma
chérie
.”

Chapter 7

Brianna stretched her arms above her head, back flexing into the firm mattress. She never felt so rested in all her life.

Wait! Had she overslept?

“Crap! I’m going to be late for work!” She shot from the bed, snatched her apron and canvas sneakers off the floor…a floor made of stone tiles.

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. She slowly peered up, taking in the red, creased sheets. Reality slapped her in the face. She wasn’t in Knoxville, wasn’t home, but here, in this cave; a prisoner of the man who murdered her sister. Her teeth grit together.

I will not cry. I’ll not give him the satisfaction.

The dim room held an empty silence. He’d left her all alone again. What was this now; the second, third day? She frowned. Something was different, a fragrance other than candles met the air. She observed the room. Every rocky wall, sconce, and ancient piece of furniture stood just as she remembered…except for the crystal vase on the bureau across the room.

Adorned in the vase were two types of blossoms; the first, long stems with a pyramid of little, purple buds. The others were yellow-pink tulips. Brianna stood in front of the arrangement, unaware of the steps she took toward it. Her fingers shook as she raised her hand and touched the blooms. The petals slipped beneath her fingertips, the texture finer than silk, and their fresh aroma hit her in full.

The purple ones held a delicate fragrance, a soft mix of lavender and rosemary. Whereas the tulips smelled like a fresh summer day. Their sweet perfume made her close her eyes. Placing her hands on the table, she inhaled deep and surrendered to the foreign scent. The tips of her fingers danced over something coarse. She opened her eyes, peered down to what was a note beside the vase, scribbled across with a simple handwritten message.

The beauty, vibrancy, and addictive fragrance dominate this room. Just so you know, I’m not talking about the flowers, ma chérie.

Why would he bring her a bouquet? What a corny thing to do. But that didn’t stop the flutter in her stomach. No one, ever, had given her flowers. When she dated Percy, she hoped he’d send a bunch to her work for her birthday, but the asshole had forgotten all about her birthday. Today wasn’t special, and yet Tristan did this for her. Her fingers traced the line of his script. At what time had he written this?

She fisted her hands, scrunching the note. No. She would not soften. The flowers didn’t belong here. Instead, they should be in a rich, green field, sprouting from the soil beneath the ground and facing the warmth of the sun. They looked so out of place in this room; unbefitting like her.

Gosh, she hated this. This dark, quiet chamber made her crave the outside world, one she took for granted. All those times she and Rachel had lain around in bikinis, complaining about the hot summer day. The mornings she hid beneath her pillow because the bright sun shone through the blinds and disturbed her sleep. Or the times she sat on the couch playing online video games.

She’d never admired the tall trees that decorated the town, or the light wind that caressed her from head to toe. She missed it all. Hell, she even missed hearing the roaring engines of numerous motorcycles that surrounded the teashop on a daily basis. She’d give anything to see her town, smell the night air after a heavy storm, greet the smiles of regular faces she had come to know and love.

Brianna swung around, clutched the edge of the wingback chair. One thing she missed most: the bright blue sky she sometimes stared up at and daydreamed. This underground void turned her dreams into nightmares.

“You’re awake.”

She whirled at the sound of his voice. Tristan stood in the doorway, dressed in black with a charcoal jacket and tie. No smile lit his face, not even his eyes. He seemed so cold and detached. In one hand he held a grey box which he placed on the bureau, and stepped closer. “Do you like the flowers?”

Really? He bothered with small talk after keeping her down here day after day, night after night? Against her will, no less. She would not be surprised if the anger simmering inside burst through the heat in her eyes and shot fireballs. She threw her hands in the air. “I want to go home! I don’t belong here!”

His brows leaped almost to his hairline. Could he really be surprised by her sudden outburst? She frowned. He should have expected this, or did he believe one, little posy would sweep her off her feet. Shutting the door, he placed his hands in his pockets.

“You’ll adapt to
Désuet
.” His tone so laid back, as though to convince someone to acclimate to bad weather.

The huff that escaped her lips sounded more like a moan. “This place is too dark.” She stomped her foot so hard, tingles pulsated up her leg. “I’m familiar with daylight, trees and wind, and…life.”

Silence lingered, his eyes lowered to the stone floor. Was that guilt in his expression? She must be getting through to him. At last, he realised his mistake in bringing her here—

“You should come with me.”

Yes, yes, yes!
“You’re sending me home?”

His eyes met hers. A strange shadow danced in them and she swore he almost pitied her. He shook his head, and in the next instant the shadow disappeared. “No, but I would like to show you something.”

She folded her arms over her chest and groaned. “There’s nothing that would interest me.”

“Brianna!” His tone boomed like a metal ruler smacked against a solid wooden table. “Please,” he added, this time with a gentle tenor.

A strange vulnerability in the way he spoke lured her. Perspiration dotted his hairline and he swallowed. He looked terrible. Was the stress of their situation troubling him? Or perhaps he suffered the first stages of an illness. He might need a cold compress and some aspirin…if vampires even took medical drugs. She paused from stepping closer and checking his temperature with the back of her hand. Why the hell was she concerned? She hated her responsiveness. Inside, she fought an emotional tug-of-war to help him, but on the outside she appeared indifferent. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

This might work to her advantage. Once he took her out of this room, she could learn her surroundings and her best chance of escape. Brianna didn’t hesitate and slipped into her canvas sneakers.

“Before we go, I bought a new dress for you to wear.” He lifted the lid of the grey box and something black lay inside.

“I’m fine with the dress I have on.” First the flowers, now this. She didn’t know what his aim was, but refused to fall for it. Besides, if she wore anything from him, he might see it as a territorial claim, and she couldn’t allow that.

Although, something other than the clothes she had worn in the last few days did sound tempting. She’d also kill for a shower, but from the quick peek in the dark bathroom she had freaked and backed away at the sight of an ancient tub. Not just that, but the smell of him lingered just outside the bathroom door, and she would not be able to handle being in a small room filled with steam and his enveloping scent.

Instead, she found a laundry behind the office with a toilet and basin. She guessed the room wasn’t often used because his fragrance didn’t loiter. Whenever he left, she used the alone time to cleanse herself as best she could.

A shaky hand combed through his short hair. “I only wish for you to be comfortable. The temperature is different outside.”

“I’ll manage,” she muttered, heading out the door, into the hallway. He spoke true, the air was cooler; it chased away the warmth of his room and spread goose bumps across her arms.

Tristan shut the door and joined her in the empty passage. “Here,” he said, unbuttoning his jacket.

“No.” She held out her hand when he had one arm out of the jacket. “I’m fine.” It would have been a comfort, but she didn’t want anything from him, didn’t want his warmth draped over her, and above all, didn’t want to be softened.

He hesitated from slipping into his jacket. Did he wonder if he should insist or quit? He must have settled on the latter, for he slid his arm back into the sleeve and continued on his trail. Torches aligned the long hall, giving the walls an eerie emerald glow; the colour in many ways resembled Tristan’s eyes. She followed him down the caved corridor in silence.

They turned the corner onto another hallway, and she glanced back. The last passage was identical to this one. How would she ever find her way around this confusing place? The rough, grooved ceiling seemed akin to the ribcage of a blue whale she saw once on National Geographic. Fifty-metre high stalactites hung from the ceiling.

Every colour and shape differed. Some walls had a bubbly combustion of smooth rock, some large coral sponges shaded in whites and browns, and some bore razor sharp edges.

Dark shades fitted every corner between the jutted rocks, making her wonder if something hid in the shadows. She gulped. She had never seen anything like this place. Cynthia mentioned many humans considered
Désuet
home. There would have to be something wrong with a person’s mental health for them to live down here with vampires.

The passage elevated and she took longer steps. Her thigh muscles grew heavier from the lack of exercise of the last few days. The walk didn’t seem to affect Tristan. In fact, he strode with lithe grace and authority, which was ironic, since she felt like a prisoner shepherded by a warden.

“It’s just down here.” He travelled through an arched doorway on the left.

Whatever he wanted to show her wouldn’t interest her. He wasted his time—

Brianna entered after him, and blinked. A square gap of light stood out in the dark room. Light. Real, natural light. An alcove lay at the end of the room. The outdoor breeze danced through, caressing her skin. Her body jerked at the slight embrace. So long since wind touched her, she failed to recall the last time she experienced such a wonderful gift from nature. The element urged her to step forward.