CHAPTER EIGHT #2
His eyes changed, taking on the indolent and sensual look that choked up her breathing and made her feel dizzy. “I’ll find wood to cover the windows while ye sleep.”
Her insides vanished completely. No matter how cold it got inside, if she let him sleep with her, they wouldn’t be cold at all.
Unable to move, she stared at him, her mind treacherously thinking about having that big body beside hers in her bed.
She flushed everywhere, became acutely aware of how late it was and what they had just gone through together.
Most of all, she knew what would happen if she let him sleep with her.
She’d shout and weep in pleasure while he filled her.
Tabby Rose would vanish, leaving a wildly passionate stranger in her place.
And if that ghost came back, she would rather be in his bed than alone in hers.
She had to rein in her feelings. He was a powerful warrior, but she had to remind herself of their differences and not allow herself to be seduced by his courage, heroism or power.
He was ruthless and savage, and she had to remember that.
If she decided to sleep with him again, she had better keep her head on straight. It would be a one-night stand.
Tabby almost choked on her thoughts. In the span of twenty-four hours, she was thinking like a stranger—no, her sister. “You’re a helluva partner in a demonic crisis,” she said carefully.
His eyes flickered. “Yer magic was strong. Ye’re a warrior like yer sister.”
She wasn’t certain her magic had helped. “What happened to your power, Macleod?”
“The gods are angry with me because I have refused to take vows to serve them. They aggravate me whenever they can.” A cold smile arose and vanished as quickly.
“Please tell me you are not in a battle with the deities?” Could he be that arrogant?
He was amused. “I dinna fear such a challenge, Tabitha. I am one of them.”
“It would be stupid to go up against the gods—even if you’re related to them.”
He simply smiled at her and she knew he was doing just that.
This was not her affair, she reminded herself. If he wanted to aggravate and anger the Ancients, he would eventually pay. Suddenly she wondered if he’d paid the price of such arrogance at An Tùir-Tara. “Why won’t you take your vows? You were born to defend the world from evil, weren’t you?”
“My duty is to Blayde.”
What did that mean, really? “You can serve your people and take care of your lands while serving the gods, can’t you?”
“I fight evil every day,” he said flatly. “But my word is sacred. If I took vows, those vows would have to come first—always. I canna turn my back on Blayde.”
She could not figure him out. He’d been so heroic a moment ago, but now, his mind-set was incredibly narrow and medieval.
Did it have something to do with having lost his entire family in the massacre?
That might make him determined to cling to all that was left—Blayde.
Maybe he wasn’t even destined for the Brotherhood.
For all she knew, guys with überpower were running around the world in every century—guys like Sam’s boss, Nick.
Maybe that kind of power was a genetic glitch.
But then, why would the gods be angry with him, enough so to interfere with him?
The old gods never bothered with mankind anymore.
Or, they didn’t bother with humanity in the twenty-first century.
It was probably really different in 1298.
“Where can I find wood? I dinna wish to break yer fine furnishings to cover the embrasures.”
She stood up. “No, we are not hacking up the furniture. We’ll use garbage bags…
plastic.” She walked across the room, suddenly thinking about his age.
He’d been fourteen years old in 1201, and in his time, it was ninety-seven years later.
He looked a few years younger than she did—like a young man of twenty-five—but he was over a hundred.
He’d lived an entire lifetime. He was a very experienced and worldly man for his time.
He’d been in hundreds of battles. He’d slept with hundreds of women—at least.
She shouldn’t care, not about anything other than the fact that he could have taken his vows since coming into manhood, and he’d refused to do so for decades. His mind was obviously made up.
It was a waste.
“Why do ye care about those vows? Why do ye care how old I am or what women I keep?”
She took a box of garbage bags out from under the sink. “Rose women have been helping the Innocent survive evil for generations. It’s our Destiny. We’ve met a few Masters and we’ve thanked the gods they exist. You’d probably make a great one.”
He made a disparaging sound. “Ye’re worried about how many women I’ve had.”
Tabby knew she turned red. “I hate this one-sided invasion of privacy!”
His regard moved over her face and then returned to her eyes. “Ye worry so much. But then, all women do.”
She could happily add chauvinistic jerk to his list of character traits. She began pulling plastic bags from the box, wanting something to do. “Being as you’re so into my mind, I hope you’ve been listening closely to all my thoughts.”
“I dinna need to look up chauvinistic jerk, Tabitha. I can feel what ye mean.”
She slammed the garbage bags down on the counter between them. “Good. Meanwhile, a ghost just tried to get in here—an evil, hateful ghost. We have a lot to worry about. So if you are too proud to worry, have no fear, I’ll do enough worrying for us both.”
He suddenly tilted up her chin with one of his strong, magic fingers. “Ye’re brave, even with yer fear.”
She felt herself nod. Of course she was afraid.
“I’ll worry,” he said.
She went still, stunned. It would be so nice to let him worry for her.
It would be so nice to let him shoulder this.
Of course, she’d do no such thing. She was a liberated, strong and independent woman, and sooner or later, she’d be on her own again.
In fact, that evil thing might still be hanging around after he’d gone back to his time.
“I will worry, Tabitha, an’ plot, an’ ye can rest with ease.”
She slowly pulled back, so he wasn’t touching her face. “Why would you do that?”
He half smiled. “In my time, men war an’ worry. Women bake bread and bear babes.”
His chauvinism was a vast relief. “Got it.” She didn’t want him acting concerned or caring toward her.
“Tabitha? I willna go back while the ghost an’ the boys hunt ye.”
She’d almost forgotten his theory about the incident at school that morning. Tabby wet her lips. “Macleod, I recognized the evil. It came from An Tùir-Tara.”
SAM RANG THE BUZZER on Kristin’s apartment door at almost a quarter past eleven at night. Kristin used the peephole before opening the door, her eyes filled with surprise.
“I am really sorry to bother you at this hour, but before I call it a night, I have one or two more questions about what happened at the school today.” Sam continued to smile smoothly as she lied.
She had a powerful sixth sense for evil, which had saved her ass a lot, and she wanted to hone in on Kristin now.
She had decided she wasn’t demonic, merely the lowest form of evil that there was, a human filled with the basest emotions and ambitions—greed, jealousy and envy, the desire to see others fail and fall, the ability to gloat over it.
But Nick was certain she wasn’t one-hundred-percent human.
He’d explained to her that humans with a low percentage of demonic DNA could take on demonic traits but escape detection as demons.
Sam was intrigued. She’d only been at HCU for three months, and hadn’t realized a hierarchy of sub-humans could exist. Her world had been divided into demons, possessed humans or subs, and humans.
Adding a mixed breed of partially demonic humans would explain a lot, like people with more power than they should have.
So now she would carefully check Kristin out.
Tailing Kristin was starting then and there.
“It’s late, and I’m usually asleep by now, but the truth is, after what happened today, I am dreading bad dreams.” Kristin smiled grimly. “Come in. Let’s go into the kitchen. My roommate’s asleep.”
Sam followed her inside. Kristin still felt both entirely human and entirely evil. Her smile hid a multitude of hatred and sins. Now Sam was excited. What if Kristin had a drop or two of demonic DNA? If she had set Tabby up, she was going to wind up dead.
Kristin offered her water, which Sam refused. “Would you tell me one more time exactly how you became aware of the fire?” She smiled, as if friendly by nature—which she was not.
As Kristin answered, Sam stared, not really listening.
At first glance, one saw Kristin’s platinum hair, her pale skin and blue eyes, her even features, and the assumption was that she was an attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties.
Now, as Sam really looked at her, she decided she wasn’t attractive, or even pretty.
She was oddly bland—almost a generic version of a blond, blue-eyed woman.
But what better way to hide her evil nature than under such an understated facade?
As she spoke, she gestured and Sam noticed the fine blue veins in her hands. Young women did not have visible veins, not even when as fair as Kristin.
She looked at her neck.
There were creases there.
She did not have the hands or the neck of a woman in her twenties or thirties.
But plenty of women went under the knife.
Maybe she’d had her face done. Sam studied her again and noticed some fine lines around her eyes and mouth, wrinkles no average person would really ever see.
Kristin Lafarge had an oddly timeless quality to her appearance, neither the look of a mature woman who’d had a bit nipped here and tucked there nor the youthful and beautiful appearance of a demon.
Demons lived for centuries, but their DNA came from Satan. Under a microscope, the difference between human and demonic DNA was obvious.
“Is that it, Agent Rose?”