Firestorm: Heart of a Vampire #5 Page 6

  “This is well thought out,” Eric told Blake.

  “It’s Cat’s idea. The overlapping areas, changes of guard, everything. We’re just doing as she asked.”

  She felt Eric’s gaze on her and opened her eyes. Admiration flitted across his face.

  She breathed deep and his scent took over her senses. Heady. Masculine. Her worry slipped back a little, replaced by attraction for the man. She licked her dry lips, swallowed.

  It had been eons since she’d been a simpering miss, sheltered from the world and especially from men. Over the centuries, she’d learned one of the most important lessons of life.

  It was fleeting.

  Happiness was fleeting.

  Everything was fleeting.

  Nothing lasted forever, so one needed to take while the getting was good.

  That included the pleasure of a lover. Not that she’d had all that many. She was picky, she could admit that. She’d never really had a checklist of attributes she enjoyed in a male. If she did, Eric wouldn’t hit many of them.

  Yet, still, he pushed her buttons in ways she couldn’t deny.

  Not that it mattered. He could barely stand to touch her—avoided it at all possible times. Therefore nothing would come of it. And that was fine. There were more important things to think about right now. Like getting some answers for Irish, and everyone else in her coven, missing and murdered.

  She let her eyes drift closed once more.

  They woke her as Blake was leaving. She said her good-byes. After checking on Irish who, though still unconscious, seemed a little better, she headed up to her bedroom. She fell into bed, hoping tomorrow brought better news than one of her coven members was on the brink of death.

  Chapter Eight

  Hours later, Cat woke to a scream coming from down the hall. She jumped out of bed and raced to Eric’s room. Slamming the door open, she ran inside, ready to do battle with whatever he fought.

  The fire burned bright. She took in the room, then stopped short.

  Eric lay in bed, the covers twisted around his hips. He thrashed side to side, then shot a fist out, landing a punch on nothing but air.

  His brow creased as he shouted again. “Brandon!”

  Quickly crossing the room, she called, “Eric?”

  He jerked sideways, then onto his back, caught in a nightmare.

  Bending over him, she grabbed his shoulders. Calloused hands clutched around her neck, cutting off her air. Instinct took over. She reared back and slammed her fist into his jaw.

  His grip loosened enough to gasp a breath.

  She hit him again.

  His hands fell onto his chest as his mumbles quieted. Stepping back and slumping in a chair at the side of the bed, she massaged her aching throat.

  Slowly, his eyes opened, but they were blank, unseeing.

  “Eric? It’s all right. You’re in my house. Nothing can harm you here,” she whispered, repeating it until he glanced at her.

  “Cat? Did you see my brother?” His voice was still laced with sleep. His eyes shone from agony, as if his soul was being tortured.

  “No. He’s not here. Just you and me.”

  He blinked a few times, his jaw tightening. Then his dark glare came back. “What are you doing in my room?” He jerked up, hastily making sure he was still clothed.

  “You were having a nightmare.”

  He glanced at her neck as she continued to rub it. “What happened?”

  Smiling a little, she replied, “Your hands, my throat.”

  With a groan, he rubbed a palm over his face. “You shouldn’t have come in here.”

  “You could at least apologize,” she snapped.

  “Sorry.” The word was clipped, abrupt, but rang with sincerity.

  Mollified, she settled back into the chair, folding her hands in her lap. “You want to tell me about it? Talking can help bad dreams have less power.”

  “It wasn’t a bad dream.” He sounded relaxed, still partly asleep.

  “Really? Not what it sounded like from my end.”

  His lips quirked, almost into a shadow of a grin. “I was fighting alongside my brother.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And that’s not a bad dream?”

  Amazingly, his lips curled more. “No. It was fun.”

  Shaking her head slightly, she reminded herself he was a warrior. Her gaze dipped to his muscled chest, partly visible from his unbuttoned shirt. His pecks and abs were well defined. The man didn’t have a six-pack, he had an eight-pack. His arms bulged with strength.

  Oh, yeah. He was all warrior.

  Eric cleared his throat, jerking his shirt closed.

  She snapped her gaze up to his face, heat rising to her cheeks. He sat up a bit and his hair fell forward over his shoulder. Nearly waist-length, a stunning white-blond.

  “Wow. How have you been hiding all that?”

  He shrugged. “I usually braid it, tuck it under my shirt.”

  She practically ogled all that beautiful hair, until he shoved it behind his back. Avoiding her embarrassment, she asked, “Is your brother older, or younger than you?”

  He leaned against the headboard. Once more relaxing a little, the angles of his face softened, showing laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. This man wasn’t as gruff as he tried to pretend.

  “He’s my twin,” Eric replied, still watching her cautiously.

  Two of them? How had the world been able to handle that?

  She couldn’t read the emotion in his depthless gaze, but his tone was amused. Intrigued at this change in him, she remained silent, for fear of driving it away.

  After a long moment, he asked, “Did I say anything in my dream?”

  “You were only calling for your brother. Where is he?”

  It was the wrong thing to ask. His blue eyes darkened to storm clouds. “I’m not sure. That’s the problem.”

  He glanced at the door, then back to her. When he started to speak, she knew he was about to tell her to leave.

  She interrupted. “It must be nice to still have family alive.”

  A long minute of silence passed, then he grudgingly replied, “Aye.”

  “Are you two close?”

  His shoulders lost some of their tenseness and the storm in his eyes began to clear. “Aye.”

  It was like pulling teeth, but at least it was a start. “So which one of you is the eldest?”

  “He is.”

  Eric’s lips began to curve once more and she decided she wasn’t leaving until she got him to smile at least once. “Is he as serious as you?”

  He snorted. “Serious? He’s uptight and has no sense of humor.”

  That was hard to imagine.

  Eric continued, “I’m the jokester in the family.”

  “Uh-huh.” This man didn’t have a clue what humor meant.

  * * *

  Eric took in her clear disbelief.

  He was the jokester... or at least, he had been. His thoughts tried to take him back down the path of darkness, but he resisted. Sitting here, talking with her about Brandon, made him feel... better.

  A log in the fireplace popped. He didn’t have to fight the urge to jump at the abrupt noise as he’d been doing lately.

  He should tell her to leave and try to get back to sleep, but a weak part of him worried he would descend into nightmares. That he hadn’t experienced them this night, yet, surprised him.

  Light from the fire cast flickering shadows over Cat’s face. She watched him intently, relaxed, comfortable.

  As if they were two friends sitting around and chatting.

  Not long ago, this had been normal for him. Until his king’s sister... He cut of that line of thinking as well.

  Scrambling to stop the errant thoughts trying to drag him down, he asked, “Did you have siblings?”

  She smiled. It was as if pure, warming sunlight shone over him. “Too many. We were a large family, but it was normal for the time.”

  He couldn’t find any sadness i
n her tone. “Don’t you miss them?”

  Her eyes closed partly as she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “Every day. But time passes. People die. It’s a part of life. I can either be a depressed mess, or remember the happy things. My mom tucking me into bed, or my father teaching me to ride a horse. My sisters and I playing dress-up. Memories only hurt if you let them.”

  He clenched his jaw at her lightness. “Sometimes memories have power of their own, no matter what you do.”

  She blinked, staring at him. He could practically hear her mind working and cursed himself for saying something so personal.

  Thankfully, she didn’t pry, instead asked, “Did you eat tonight?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you need anything else?” she asked.

  “Gracious, aren’t you?”

  “My parents brought me up to be so.”

  “And yet, you’re not quite the genteel southern lady. Getting drunk, cussing up a storm. And mouthy most of the time.” He softened his words with a slight grin, and was rewarded by another smile.

  She leaned back, pulling her legs up on the chair, revealing her toes were painted a rainbow of colors, each one different.

  “I control my temper.” She batted her eyelashes as she added, “When it’s proper.”

  “Ah,” he stated, unable to deny he enjoyed the banter. And that it took his mind off darker things. “You keep growling at me.”

  She shrugged. “You deserve it.”

  “Perhaps. How’s your neck?”

  Cat reached up, tracing her fingertips over her throat. “Fine.”

  His breath caught as her movement raised her thin nightgown. Firelight shone over her, turning the satin and lace nearly see through. His body flared to life, blood surging, making him instantly hard.

  He couldn’t look away from the sight of her tanned breasts, their large rosy nipples. Her waist tapered thin, then flared into generous hips. A ruby sparkled at her navel, in the center of a tattoo that he couldn’t quite make out. The woman had a wild streak inside her. She was gentle, but still a warrior. The way she’d commanded her men was brilliant. It was an amazing mix. She was definitely no pampered princess, as he’d first assumed.

  Memories hit, this time of holding her in his arms as they crossed the dance floor. Of her body pressed against him. Her skin, smooth as silk.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, clamping tight on his errant thoughts. This wasn’t what he was here for, and he damn well had no interest in this woman, even if her concern and laughter had eased the ball of tense pain that was his constant companion.

  “What?” she asked, thankfully oblivious to his traitorous mind.

  “Nothing. I’m tired.”

  Her eyes flashed at his obvious dismissal, but she merely stood. The nightgown caressed her skin, no longer sheer. Raising her chin, her expression polite, yet unemotional. “Good night, then. Sleep well.”

  She walked out of the room, closing his door gently. He listened to her steps as she entered her own room. A muffled curse of frustration came. He ignored the tinge of regret filling him.

  They weren’t friends.

  She was merely his charge to protect. But the better he got to know her, he found more admirable qualities. The way Cat had tried to comfort him... it was confusing. He’d acted like a jerk, and she didn’t seem to care. It was as if she saw past the barriers he’d erected between them. Between him and everyone.

  She was sensitive. And too damn sexy. Too much of a distraction to his peace of mind. He wouldn’t go down that road. Beauty and temptation only led to pain. To betrayal. To destruction.

  * * *

  Two days later, Cat strode into her living room, biting her lip to stop a sarcastic comment at the way Eric had transformed the area into a hub of paperwork, maps and outlines pinned to the walls.

  He’d unceremoniously pushed all the furniture against one wall, then dragged a large table into the middle of the room. He currently sat in front of the table, going over all the reports he’d taken the last few days—from her and any other coven member he’d been able to interview.

  “You heard the information, and have reread it multiple times. I doubt you’ll find anything new.”

  She sounded cranky, and cringed. Being cooped up in this house was beginning to drive her insane. At least Irish was recovering, though he still hadn’t woken, which meant she’d stayed home, just in case. But she had to get out of here. Find something useful, not all these stupid reports that told her nothing.

  Eric slowly turned in his chair, his face molded into a nearly blank expression.

  The same dismissive, uninterested look he’d been giving her since the night she’d woken him from his dreams.

  It was driving her as nuts as being stuck in this house. He’d left. Oh yeah. Escaping every chance he got to “go interview such-and-such” with Blake.

  He turned back to his papers without a word.

  Sighing in frustration, she left the room to check on Irish yet again.

  An hour later, a knock came at the door. She raced to answer it, desperate for any distraction.

  Blake stood outside. The worry lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper since the last time he’d been there.

  It wasn’t good news.

  Chapter Nine

  “There’s been another murder,” Blake stated as he strode inside.

  “Who?” Cat demanded.

  “Jenny Bacchus.”

  Sorrow filled her. Her frustration boiled nearly out of control.

  Eric stepped into the foyer. “Any known cause?”

  “No. Same as the others.” Blake slapped his thigh, pacing. “The Judge is back in town though. One of my men saw him at the hotel.”

  “Good.” She headed to the table by the door and grabbed her keys. “He’s going to give some answers this time, no matter what.”

  “You’re not going without me,” Eric replied. “And I’m not sitting in that toy you call a car.”

  He tossed her his keys.

  “Blake, you’ll stay and keep an eye on Irish?”

  “Yeah.” The man looked exhausted.

  Cat moved outside, climbing in the driver’s seat of Eric’s SUV. She seriously considered leaving without him, after his dismissive attitude lately...

  He got in before she could make up her mind. Silently, she headed down the drive and into the city.

  * * *

  As Cat pulled into the hotel parking lot, her shoulders tense, Eric felt pangs of guilt over the way he’d tried to ignore her. And he wondered if this lust, these feeling for her that he couldn’t push back or ignore, were part of his insanity. If he was around her much longer, he was going to grow to like her. Though he feared that was already happening.

  They walked into the hotel and she told him, “Let me do the talking.”

  “How may I help you?” the concierge asked politely, if a bit disinterested.

  Cat slid one of her cards to him. He glanced over her name, his expression immediately perking up. “Lady Bienville. My manager left a message for you. The guest you wish to speak with is in.”

  “So I heard,” she replied wryly. “We’d like to see him now.”

  This was definitely faster than when he’d tried to get information.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The concierge nodded, and waved to a young woman in a colorful uniform. “Jackie will show you the way.”

  She hurried over, smiling sweetly but with blank eyes, as she said in a monotone, “Follow me to your floor.”

  In the elevator, Cat stood as far from him as she could, tall and stiff. She didn’t fidget at all.

  Neither did the girl. Turning his attention to Jackie, Eric watched her closely. No expression, no movement. She barely breathed. He leaned towards the girl, inhaling deeply.

  Human. Mortal. But her scent was off. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was though.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. He followed Cat out and to the right. As the elevator doors began
to close, he glanced back at Jackie.

  The girl stared straight ahead, her eyes still blank, as if she saw nothing.

  * * *

  At room 413, Cat raised her hand to knock, but Eric beat her to it, thumping on the wood loud enough to be heard a few floors down.

  The Judge’s deep, growly voice came through. “You don’t have an appointment, and I didn’t order room service. Go away.”

  Eric crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Open up, or I’ll do it for you.”

  After a moment of silence, the door swung open. The Judge looked to be in his mid-twenties, but one could never be sure. Though mortal, wolf shifters didn’t age like humans. He was average everything—short and stocky, with close cropped brown hair, dull brown eyes and non-descript features.

  “Vampire.” The man scowled, putting on a poor show of bravado as he had to look higher and higher. “What do you want?”

  “I’m here as an envoy to the New Orleans clan. I’d like to ask you some questions about the recent disappearances and murders of local vampires.”

  The Judge finally noticed her standing off to the side. This time his sneer was genuine. “You again?” To Eric, he stated, “I’ve nothing further to say on the matter. I’ve told your little vampire,” he drawled the word as if saying trash, “everything I know. You’re not welcome here.”

  Eric barged forward, forcing the man back into the room. He beckoned Cat to follow, and once she was inside, slammed the door shut with a flick of his wrist. “You haven’t told me.”

  The Judge puffed up his chest. “I answer to the Magic Council, not someone like you.”

  “Aye.” Eric glanced around, before taking a seat on one spindly wooden chair. It creaked in response to his immense size. “I wonder how they’ll react when informed about what’s going on here. How you’ve been rude and dismissive to the problem of late. Then there’s what has been happening to the Arcaine, who the Council is sworn to protect.”

  The Judge straightened and asked haughtily, “Oh? And how do you propose to tell them?”

  Eric smiled, and shivers tickled along the back of Cat’s neck.