Stake and Dust (Stake and Dust series, Book I) (24 page)

"Are you all right?" Tremayne called to her,
his voice held a note of worry.

Her gaze riveted in his direction. He'd moved
closer without her realizing it. "Why wouldn't I be?" she
snapped.

"Your heart sped up like … like you're
frightened."

She groaned inwardly. She'd forgotten for the
moment that his hearing would pick up such things as a heartbeat.
"Don't worry,
vampire
. I'm not frightened of you." Which was
a perfectly good lie, but not in the sense he would think. She was
scared of what she would do, or rather what she wouldn't do, when
she saw Tremayne's face and his lovely haunting blue eyes.

Would she be able to do it? Could she kill
the man she'd fallen for?
Man
… but he was more than a man,
a sworn enemy who had purposely lied to her. She closed her eyes.
No, he hadn't lied – exactly. She'd always been drawn to men who
could handle themselves in a fight. She blamed it on her
upbringing. She was trained to be a hunter. It made sense she would
want a man who could stand at her side if trouble arose. She
believed Tremayne could be that man.

"Cassandra?" Tremayne's voice drew her back
to the present and the cold truth of where his tantalizing caresses
had led her.

"I need to know," she said.

"Know what?"

"Was it all a lie?"

Chapter Thirty-Five

Tremayne stepped away from his hiding place
and glanced to where she sat, perched like an avenging angel. Along
with the pain, distrust darkened Cassandra's expression. It was
unmistakable, even with the night goggles attached to her head. He
was in tune with the nuances of her body language – the way it
tensed when she was nervous, or how her limbs relaxed when he
kissed the tender area at her collarbone. She rubbed her hand over
her face as if she doubted all they shared, as if she believed he
had a devious plan from the start.

"Why did you let me into your life?" Her
voice hardened just a notch. "Why did you toy with my feelings? Is
it your perverse way to set up your victims?"

Now she was just plain pissed. But she was
right. Why indeed had he allowed her into his life, when he could
have easily pushed her away?

Bram had tried to warn him.

"
Have you lost your senses? She's a
Hayes,"
Bram stated the fact over a glass of Merlot tinged with
synthetic blood. Bram and his lovely wife, Adryanna had come to
visit him. Adryanna didn't seem as troubled over his involvement
with a hunter. Not in the sense she believed he was nutty. She only
worried his heart would be broken. This had surprised him. When he
decided to court Cassandra Hayes, he never considered she'd break
his heart. Stake it, aye. Break it, no.

Maybe he had lost his wits. He most assuredly
had lost his heart as Adryanna had predicted. Perhaps that was why
he couldn't think straight when Cassandra stood beside him.

They spent time together, hours upon hours of
getting to know each other. Sometimes late at night, they'd stroll
along the beach, walking hand in hand, while Shakespeare raced on
ahead of them. The dog loved to frolic in the surf and bark at the
waves.

The breeze would lift Cassandra's hair gently
at the nape of her neck. She had a lovely neck, and not because he
wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh. It was long and as
graceful as the rest of her. Along with the scent of the sea, her
alluring aroma of wild honeysuckle would wash over him in waves,
teasing him before ebbing away again. He knew after awhile she
didn't suspect him to be a vampire. He knew because no stake
protruded from his chest and his head remained upon his shoulders.
He had Sheerin's concoction to thank for the reprieve. He used it
sparingly since the side effects were undesirable, but still worth
the risk.

"Don't you celebrate Christmas?"
she'd
asked him on their last walk together and she mentioned Christmas
again tonight. Somehow he knew this was nearly as important to her
as in wanting him to be a hunter and not a vampire.

He was born in a time where pagan rituals
were all the rage, but then some aspects of Christmas were remnants
of those long ago beliefs. He learned through the years it was best
not to sway too far from the truth. It made remembering the story
much easier. Humans loved history. They wanted to know where you
came from so they could better judge what the future might
hold.

Finally it dawned on him why she'd been so
persistent that they celebrate Christmas. Her family was far away,
and humans tended to become melancholy around the holidays. She
felt comfortable with him and she wanted to share a day that was
important to her. If she'd have him, he'd let her decorate his home
however she wished for the holiday.

"Tremayne?" Her voice brought him back to the
present.

"It was so easy to be with you," he told her.
"Our souls…" He was going to say recognized each other, but
speaking of
tree spirits
and
souls
only proved to
remind her how very old he was, how very
non-human
he was.
"I had the feeling you suspected I was a vampire when you came by
the pub, after we took care of Lorelei. What tipped you off?"

"My brother called me with information."

"From whom?"

"Does it matter? For all I know, probably
another vampire. Your kind isn't all that loyal."

He harrumphed, but she ignored him.

"My brother didn't have a name. His informant
told him the vampire owned a business. Every preternatural being we
came across seemed to hint you were one of them."

"So you challenged me to walk in the sun," he
said. "What if I had burst into flames?"

She sighed. "Then I would have known. But you
didn't fry. How is that possible?"

He could lie, but they had enough of those
between them. "Sheerin, my cousin, invents things. He had an
experimental concoction, and I took it. Didn't know if it would
work until I stepped outside. Lucky for me it did."

"You could have died," she said.

Did he note concern in those words? "It was
worth the risk. No matter what you're thinking," Tremayne said, "I
never misled you, Cassandra. My feelings for you are genuine. If
you'd open up your heart, you would see I'm telling you the truth.
I never meant to hurt you."

"But in the end, you did. I'm a hunter of
your kind. How did you think this would all end?"

He opened his mouth, but closed it again when
Shakespeare's low menacing growl pricked his ears. In the next
second, he picked up the scent his hound must have detected, too:
holly, mistletoe and woodsy cologne. What an odd combination. If
the intruders were trying to camouflage their approach, they were
doing a poor job of it, but even with the blast of aroma for a
warning, discovery still proved too late.

A sharp sting burned his neck and on instinct
his hand slapped at the area. He pulled out the offensive stinger
and stared at the dart. His gaze riveted to Cassandra with
disbelief. "You set me up."

"Tremayne—"

He never knew what lie she was about to spin.
The world tipped on its axis and his legs gave out. He hit the
ground hard. "Hunters…" They would know how to properly drug a
vampire. This was it for him.

He heard feet fast approaching, shouts,
curses and Shakespeare's whines… Then all went black.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Cassandra paced the room that was void of
furniture, except for the decorative medieval torture device.
Tremayne lay slumped on the ground, restrained in Iron chains
bolted to the wall. The smell of burnt flesh hit her nostrils and
she tried not to be ill. Iron was a vampire's kryptonite. It
weakened them and would eventually kill them if they were exposed
to the metal for a long period of time.

Shakespeare's head lay on his master's lap
as he waited patiently for him to awaken to the world of the
living. A few heartbeats later, a low moan drew her attention.

"Finally," she breathed in relief.

Shakespeare whined and gave Tremayne a
slobbery kiss across his face.

"Stop it, lad," Tremayne's voice croaked
with a gravelly growl. He blinked then focused his attention on
her. His eyes were like blue shards of glass, accusing and sharp in
their assessment. "Cassandra?"

She moved closer, but not too close. He was
an injured vampire. In the next moment she was glad she heeded her
own warning. He flew to his feet and lunged toward her, his eyes
flaming red with fury. The chains held fast and he didn't go very
far before he fell to his knees.

He breathed in a ragged breath. "Why are you
doing this?" he asked her.

Pain was evident in his voice, and not just
from the physical discomfort. He spoke from the heart. It saddened
her to think this was where their relationship had ended – both of
them leery of each other.

"I didn't do this."

His head snapped up and his gaze leveled on
her.

"I was taken captive, too." She lifted her
shoulders in a shrug. "Look around. I'm locked inside the room with
you."

He sat back on his haunches and rubbed a
hand through his disheveled hair, the action made him grimace, the
iron manacles cutting into the flesh at his wrist.

The room was four walls of concrete with
only a small window ledge on the far wall, high near the ceiling,
leading her to believe they were in a basement, an oddity for this
area. But then, kidnappers didn't usually follow normal protocol.
The chains on the wall proved that well enough.

Her gaze lingered on the window. She might
be able to fit through it, but reaching it proved a problem. That,
and the fact she didn't want to leave Tremayne behind. God only
knew what their captives had in store for him.

"Who took us?" His eyes narrowed.

Without him stating it, she knew he did not
trust her. She couldn't blame him. Only hours ago she tried to
stake him with an arrow. "I don't know."

He snorted with a harrumph.

"I don't. Two seconds after you went down, I
was hit with a dart, too. I woke up only moments before you
did.

He scooted back to the wall and leaned
against it. "Isn't this just a corker?" he said, his words dripping
with sarcasm. "I've survived battles, and yet, I'm taken down by a
sleeping potion." He fell silent then and rubbed his upper arm.

Her gaze landed on the raw flesh where the
manacles kissed his skin. She unzipped her leather jacket and
removed it, tossing it on the ground. It wasn't until she shimmied
out of her T-shirt that he narrowed his gaze on her.

"Well darlin', I don't believe I'm in the
mood for a quick tumble." He lifted his arm and the chains scraped
against the stone floor. "Or are you into kinky stuff and I didn't
know it?" His brows lifted high on his forehead.

Cassandra strode toward him with a
determined glint in her eye. "Don't make me hurt you." She hunkered
down beside him. She struggled to tear her shirt in half. "They
make it look so easy in the movies," she murmured under her
breath.

Tremayne let out an exasperating huff and
yanked the shirt from her hands. Even in his weakened state from
the iron, he was able to rip the material with ease.

He was strong, stronger than any human man,
and yet, he had never hurt her. He'd always been gentle. He'd never
bitten
her either and there had been plenty of
opportunities. It also explained why she'd never spent the entire
night with him. He would send her home before dawn, or he would
leave her side with a quick kiss goodbye and a promise to call her
the next day. Had the ploy been to keep her safe?

"Well, darlin'?" he asked.

His Irish lilt thickened when he was angry.
She didn't know that about him. Until now, they'd never argued. She
pursed her lips. This was probably just one of many things she
didn't know about him.

With impatience, Tremayne held up the
shredded T-shirt. "Am I to tie you up with these or do you have
some other devious intentions?"

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cassandra's white-lipped expression spoke
louder than words. She grabbed the material from his grasp and
reached for his hand. With quick jerking movements, she shoved the
T-shirt beneath the manacles so that the iron did not touch his
skin.

Remorse hit him in the chest first, before
being replaced by gratitude. Then the full impact of her gesture
hit home. She still cared about him. His heart quickened at the
thought.

"What are you smiling about?" She met his
eyes with a flash of anger.

He didn't reveal his thoughts; she'd only
reject them. "Thank you." He gestured toward his restraints.

Her features softened, her eyes searching
his. Did she look at him in hopes of seeing a glimpse of the
monster she believed him to be? He reached for her, tucking a
wayward strand behind her ear. Realizing what he was doing, he let
his hand fall away. An array of emotions flitted over her features:
fear, compassion, and perhaps, regret. She shook her head and her
green eyes glistened like jewels as they pooled with frustrated
tears.

"I'm sorry, Tremayne." She choked back a sob
and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook
of his neck.

The sudden movement startled him and he
almost lost his balance, but recovered quickly. He still maintained
some of his vampire reflexes, despite the iron seeping into his
pores and weakening him.

Hesitantly, he patted her back. He feared
this tender moment would quickly pass and be replaced by her
hostile stance once more. "It's all right."

She pulled away to look at him. "It's not
all right. I tried to kill you."

"If you truly meant to spear me, I believe
you would have, luv. You didn't even come close to hitting me with
your arrows."

She harrumphed. "I most certainly did too. I
heard your bellow."