Page 61

Story: The Gloaming

I must have looked as confused as I felt, as I knelt in front of him. “Tell me.”

“I was sleepin’, and I could sense the sun going down, when…” His hands clenched. “I caught your scent.”

I raised an eyebrow at this – so a vamp’s sense of smell was acute enough to wake the dead. The new information just kept on coming, lately.

“I’ve been at the coffee shop all day with Adam,” I explained. “He must have had my scent on him.”

“No,” he said firmly. “This was pure. Twas your blood.”

“I’m fine, Nicholas. It wasn’t me.” I leaned closer, taking in the tight lines around his mouth, the way his hands wouldn’t stay still.

“It wasyours,” he repeated. “I went downstairs, and twas everywhere. Under the door, seeping across the tiles…” His accent was heavy with distress. “When I opened it…”

“What?” I whispered.

“Her face was hidden, hair spread like fire.” His voice cracked. “Wearin’ your hat from the hilltop. Someone went to a great deal of effort to hurt me, even for a moment.”

We were both silent as I took this in. It had been too much to hope the killer had given up. Another woman was dead, and this time the intent couldn’t have been clearer.

“Who was it?” I asked eventually. “Who was she?”

“Just another victim to them,” he murmured. “They didnae even feed – only left her there to taunt me. Showin’ me how close they can get…” His laugh had a bitter edge to it. “And we still dinnae know a damn thing.”

“What do you mean, how close they can get?” I asked.

He contemplated me sadly. “Twasyourblood, Erin. No just your scent. I’d ken it anywhere.”

I screwed up my face, thinking. It had been months since I’d been to donate blood. To have stolen something like that meant this bastard – whoever they were – had way more forethought than I’d previously imagined. I shivered.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said, resolutely ignoring the onset of paranoia and wracking my brain for some piece of information that would give us a clue. Then I remembered something my dad had said.

“What about the accent?” I asked. “My dad told Tom the person calling the house had an accent. If it was the same as yours, that would narrow it down, wouldn’t it?”

Nicholas rubbed at the shadow along his jaw. “Ach, that’s no enough to go on. I lived in Scotland for years. Met too many people to count. And as time’s gone on, the dialect’s changed.”

“It wouldn’t be someone from that far back though. They’d have to have spent time with yousincethen,” I pressed. “It would be someone who knows your history well enough to use it against you.”

He raked a hand through his hair again, distress etching deeper lines around his mouth. “I’ve never made a secret o’ my past. Tis my present that concerns me.” His fingers flexed. “It’sonly a matter of time before they come for ye properly.”

I pushed aside thoughts of danger, reaching for his hands and stilling them. His skin was chilled against my burning fingers as I traced the scars there – rough patches at his thumbs and fingertips that spoke of a human life long past. I turned one palm over to see them better.

“From the sword,” he explained, noticing my examination. His eyes held a gleam of mischief, briefly masking his worry. “Back when I was human. Some marks are… too deeply ingrained for immortality to fade.”

I nodded, adding this new bit of information to my mental stockpile of Nicholas Murray facts. I had to smile – maybe one day I’d let him in on my favoured weapon.

“The sun’s almost down,” I murmured, glancing toward the window where a sliver of light peeked out from behind the blind.

“Aye.” He seemed unwilling to leave, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for him to go either.

“We should get to the manor. We can find out what Adam and Isabel think about all this.” I met his gaze steadily. “Identify the victim at least. She deserves that much.”

His eyes darkened and his mouth was on mine before I could draw breath. The shock of it – finally, after all the near-misses and careful distance – sent a current of heat blazing through me.

I moved without thinking, my hands finding his face. He sank back onto the sofa, drawing me with him until I was astride his lap. Every barrier I’d built, every warning I’d given myselfabout what he was, disappeared under the onslaught of his kiss. His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that matched the tension between us, in each glance and interrupted moment, all leading inexorably to this. Nicholas’s dark hair fell forward as he leaned in, silken between my fingers as I pressed closer, his familiar earth and pine scent enveloping me just as I’d imagined. When he moaned softly, I pulled him closer, my hips seeking his as the space between us dissolved. One touch and we were burning – if we let ourselves, we’d consume each other entirely.

His long fingers tangled in my hair, freeing it across my shoulders while his other hand slid up my side, hovering at the curve of my breast before cupping it through my jumper, stroking sensuous circles through the thin fabric. The room had darkened, but I still closed my eyes, lost in the crimson fire racing through me. His body was cool and steady against mine, and it felt right – like he was the missing piece of me I hadn’t known to look for.

I gave in willingly, my breathing fast and uneven as my blood burned, focusing in a tight, hot knot that sparked in my lower belly. Beneath me, his arousal pressed firm and insistent against my core.I felt his heart stutter to life against my palm – once, twice, three beats through cotton – and I pressed myself more deeply into his body, desperate to feel it again. He tugged gently at my hair, exposing my neck as his lips traced a burning path along my collarbone.