Page 19

I took the long way home, winding through snow-capped evergreens along a route that took me out into the Peaks before it brought me back toward the city. With the windows down and the crisp winter air whipping at my face, I turned Adam’s words over in my mind. I couldn’t help but compare it to Isabel’s advice the previous evening – they both seemed to be urging me in the same direction. And of course, that led to thoughts of Nicholas.

The memories came thick and fast – his support in the park, holding me like I might shatter. The way his eyes had sought mine at the manor, looking for something I hadn’t understood at the time. His laughter. His concern. That ever-so-slightly dangerous smile of his. Each moment with him felt like coming up for air.

And his lips… That brief brush against mine on the hilltop… Heat burned and flamed in my veins at the thought of it, as invigorating as any fight, and somehow completely different in its fire. My rational mind demanded I focus on what he was – every instinct I’d honed hunting should have been scre aming at me to stay away.

But my instincts remained silent.

Instead, I found myself wondering what it would be like to surrender completely to the pull between us. How I’d felt before I’d known what he really was.

If that momentary touch of his lips sparked such fire, what would happen if you just… let go?

Was the fact that he was a vampire – that he had killed, and might kill again – enough to make me walk away from whatever was happening between us? Tom would say yes. Jon, however, might disagree.

From the moment I’d met ‘Cole’, I’d felt safe with him. Despite everything he’d done – things I’d struggle to forget – I couldn’t let him go. And I didn’t want to.

There was a darkness in me – a love of the fight, the kill, that was incompatible with normal, human relationships. But Nicholas… not only did he believe I was meant for him, he wanted me despite what I was. And fuck, I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life .

Admitting it to myself was pure relief. The clarity felt like breathing properly for the first time in weeks. Even my face showed it – a glance in the hallway mirror when I got in showed a version of me I hadn’t seen in a long while. Cheeks flushed, hair loose around my shoulders as I freed it from its plaits. My fingers itched for pencils again; maybe now my art would find its focus too.

My dad’s call caught me off-guard as I was unlacing my boots. I could tell he was concerned about the letters and the eerie phone calls, but he chattered away, trying to hide it. For once he was cooperative, agreeing to take a trip without argument – it was the only thing I could think of that didn’t leave me stuck standing guard outside their house. But that was one less worry, at least.

Upstairs, I ran a bath and examined my healing injuries while steam slowly filled the room. The bruises were mostly gone now, leaving only yellow shadows on my hip and elbow. As I twisted my hair up, I caught my reflection – pale, pointed, perfectly ordinary. What did Nicholas see in me that he hadn’t found in centuries of searching? Beauty like Isabel’s was everywhere in his world. There had to be more to it.

Sinking into spearmint-scented water, I watched the late afternoon light filter through the stained glass of my tiny window, painting the bathroom in autumn colours. For the first time in weeks, my mind was clear enough to see what I’d first wanted in my mural. Yes, painting shouldn’t have been my top priority with a killer on the loose, but I did my best thinking with a brush in my hand. Or so I told myself.

Drying off, I threw on old, paint-spattered jeans and a light, green jumper that reminded me of Nicholas’s eyes. I was halfway up the ladder to the attic when a frantic knocking shattered my peace.

I hesitated, one hand on the rung. Tom wouldn’t knock, and Adam was headed in the opposite direction. It was still too light for other visitors – and I didn’t have any other friends, anyway. After a moment’s debate, I ignored it and bounded up to the attic .

Moments later, while rummaging through my paint box for the right shade of sienna, I jumped as a voice spoke behind me.

“Erin.” The word was a prayer of relief, jagged with barely contained fear.

I spun around, dropping into a fighting stance without thinking. My body knew him before my mind did – a sudden awareness that sent my pulse pounding.

Nicholas stood in the shadowy corner, his back against the wall and his skin faintly smoking. The black Henley shirt he wore clung to the lean lines of his chest and shoulders, doing nothing to hide how the muscles tensed beneath as he pressed himself away from the light. Deep orange rays flooded the attic from the two large windows on either side of the roof, trapping him. The urgency of the knock on the door now made sense.

“Shit. Was that you banging on the door?” I asked, dropping my fists. I tried to keep my words steady, but my heartbeat seemed suddenly louder than before.

“Aye,” he exhaled the word. “I needed—”

I hurried to pull down the blinds, affording him some space to move.

“Burnin’ to see you wasnae quite how I planned it though,” he murmured, a hint of his usual playfulness surfacing.

I moved closer, noticing the angry red marks on his exposed forearms where the sun had caught him. “You’re hurt,” I said, reaching for him without thinking.

His eyes followed my fingers as they hovered over his skin. “Tis nothin’” he insisted. “Already healing.”

I brushed the marks, watching in fascination as they faded under my fingertips, the angry red receding to pink, then to nothing at all. My voice was barely above a whisper as I asked: “Is it painful?”

“No,” he said, but his eyes darkened as I continued to examine his arm, tracing the places where the burns had been. “No anymore.”

The smell of charcoal and smoke clung to him, traces of his desperate run through daylight… but I had no clue what could be urgent enough for him to risk that.

Nicholas watched me with an intensity that made my skin tingle, adding to my already racing heart. For a moment I thought he might reach for me, but he seemed to think better of it, and I took an uncertain step back.

“So,” I said, forcing myself to breathe evenly, “what’s up?” I winced at how awkward I sounded. Despite my earlier revelations, I struggled to look him in the face – I couldn’t control my reaction when I did.

Nicholas swept a hand through his rumpled dark hair, looking around the room with interest. It stuck up in boyish tufts, and I hid a smile.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked.

I nodded, watching as he settled back onto my ratty old sofa, somehow making it look like a throne. His dark shirt and old, worn jeans should have made him look more human, but instead he looked… dangerous. The way the fabric pulled across his chest when he leaned forward, the casual strength in the way he moved – he looked like he belonged here in my space, even as everything about him drew my eyes to places th ey shouldn’t linger.

“Did something happen?”

He paused before answering, resting his arms on his knees. “I thought you dead.” His voice broke on the last word.

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 was yours ,” 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. “Twas your blood, 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 you since then,” 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’s only 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 myself about 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.

“Gods, love,” he whispered against my skin, “What’re ye doin’ to me?”

And almost as abruptly as it had begun, his lips were gone from mine. His hands moved to my hips, gently lifting me aside as he stood. I opened my eyes, breathless, but this time he was still there before me. A barely visible flush hid the faint freckles under his eyes, and I smiled wryly up at him.

“We should get goin’.” His voice was rough velvet. “I’ll meet you there.”