Touch of Seduction Read online

  Gideon’s mouth curled with a crooked smile. “Any time.”

  “Yeah?” A low, gritty bark of laughter vibrated in his chest. “Huh. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised.”

  “You have bad blood with Ashe,” the Deschanel murmured, rolling one broad, silk-covered shoulder, “but I’m not my brother.” Looking up and down the narrow lane, he pushed his windblown hair back from his face, and asked, “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Kierland jerked his chin toward the fog-shrouded end of the street, where the grating dance music could still be heard. “I was heading for that club down there to look for you.”

  The vampire threw back his head and laughed, revealing two perfect bite marks just above the thick line of his jugular. Kierland wondered who had fed from the Deschanel…and if Gideon had allowed his body to be used in exchange for the information they were after. As his laughter faded away, the vampire shook his head and snorted. “Does that sound like the sort of place I would hang out?”

  “To be honest, I had my doubts,” Kierland drawled, resting his back against the nearest building. He used his sleeve to wipe the blood from his face, and was about to ask how the vamp had found him, then realized that Gideon would have simply picked up his scent at his hotel, then followed the trail. Turning the conversation back to the creature, he said, “Westmore told the Collective Generals that a time of anarchy was coming to the clans. Before you got here, that…Death-Walker said that their goal was to take out the Watchmen so they could go to work turning the clans against one another. And once that’s done, it sounds like they plan to just sit back and watch everything go to hell for the fun of it. This has to be what Westmore was talking about.”

  Gideon gave a slow nod as he pushed his hands into his front pockets, the corners of his mouth dipping in a frown. “Westmore worked for one of the oldest Deschanel families in existence. It seems plausible that he could have learned about the Death-Walkers from them.”

  Wishing he had a cigarette, Kierland blew out a frustrated breath. “But why would the Deschanel know these things? I mean, this is stuff that the Watchmen have never even heard of.”

  The vampire arched one dark, arrogant brow. “You don’t have a lot to do with hell, so how would you know its secrets?”

  “And the Deschanel do?”

  “What can I say? Sometimes it helps to be a little bit bad,” Gideon murmured, slanting him a wry smile. “There are Deschanel legends about things like this happening in the past, long before the Casus even came into existence. They’re told mostly as cautionary tales, full of dark magic and things no sane person would meddle in. But it looks as if the original Consortium was desperate enough to do just that. According to the Deschanel, portals like the ones being opened for the Casus can only be made from materials found in hell itself.”

  “So then you were right,” he rasped, “about the leaders using dark magic to make the crosses.”

  The vampire nodded. “It looks that way. But if it makes you feel any better, I wish I’d been wrong.”

  Pushing away from the wall, Kierland forced himself to do the right thing and extended his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, if you still want it. Westmore will be yours, in exchange for anything else you can learn.”

  “I was hoping you’d feel that way,” Gideon said with a low laugh, shaking his hand. They exchanged numbers, and then the Deschanel glanced at the silver watch on his wrist. “I need to get going,” he said, “but I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something more. In the meantime, be careful and watch your back. Until we understand more about what’s going on, there’s no telling what will happen. Believe it or not, the advice I was given is that you find a stone structure surrounded by water, and stay there, using it for protection. The Death-Walkers won’t be able to get in. Not if the water’s been salted and blessed by a man of God.”

  Kierland scrubbed his hands down his face, not liking the idea that instantly took root in his brain. Without a doubt, the others were going to fight him over it, thinking he was stark barking mad. But if it proved necessary, he’d find a way to make it happen—even if he had to drag them kicking and screaming across the bloody Atlantic.

  “And Kierland.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If I were you,” Gideon told him, all traces of humor erased from his deep voice as the vampire settled his gray gaze on Kierland’s blood-soaked shoulder, “I’d find it fast.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Missouri

  Monday night

  IT WAS EVENING when they finally stopped for the night at a hotel on the outskirts of St. Louis. Though it’d been a long, confusing day, Olivia’s body still thrummed with pleasure from the breathtaking things that Aiden had done to her the night before. She only wished the blissful sensation would bleed past the physical and into her emotions. But they were too edgy. Too raw.

  And the day had been nothing short of bizarre.

  At dawn she’d been pulled out of bed for an emergency meeting. The details had been confusing, but Olivia had finally succeeded in wrapping her sleep-fogged mind around the situation, understanding that Kierland Scott had gotten a lead in his search for information about the creatures attacking Watchmen all over the world. They were called Death-Walkers, and they were bad news—not that she hadn’t been able to see that for herself. According to Kierland’s source, the Death-Walkers were actually the condemned souls of clansmen and women who had been sent to hell for their crimes, and with each Casus death, at least one of these fiends was able to crawl its way up out of the pit.

  The revelation sparked a spirited conversation, the topics including speculation as to how the Markers had been made and theories about why the Death-Walkers sought to create such chaos, though they all agreed that it sounded as if the creatures’ minds had been warped by their time in hell. They also agreed that the Death-Walkers knew the Markers were responsible for their release, which would explain why the one that had attacked Aiden had been so fascinated by Jamie’s cross. Then Kellan had told them that his brother believed there was a good chance they would need to move their base of operations, for safety purposes. Kierland hadn’t given any specifics on the new location, claiming he needed to make some more enquiries first—but the idea had caused a whole new round of debate among the others.

  All in all, it had been a chilling way to start the day.

  Then, at around three in the afternoon, another call had come in, this one from Aiden’s friends in Colorado. The security at Ravenswing had been breached and two Death-Walkers had infiltrated the compound. Thankfully, everyone had made it out okay due largely to their practiced evacuation drills, but the incident had only served to set Aiden and the others further on edge. Now the group from the compound was headed their way, and though there’d been a lot of grumbling after they’d talked to Kierland, it had been decided that everyone would head to England. Kierland and Kellan had grown up there, raised by their grandfather at a remote estate in the Lake District that Kierland believed would be perfect for their new headquarters, since it met the two requirements the Lycan had been told they needed for protection—requirements that none of the Watchmen compounds in either North or South America currently met.

  It was surrounded by water.

  And it was made of stone.

  Though the inside of the house had been modernized, its exterior walls belonged to the original stone structure that had stood there for over eight hundred years…and it was surrounded by a moat. While the estate was apparently in dire need of renovation after years of neglect since their grandfather’s death, it had been agreed that the location just might offer the group the protection they needed—an idea that Molly claimed had been backed by Monica. Kierland had already made the necessary arrangements not only to have the moat water blessed, but for copious amounts of salt to be added. According to the Lycan’s source, the Death-Walkers wouldn’t be able to cross the salted holy water. Kierland had also told them that the combination of salt
and holy water could actually be used to drive the Death-Walkers away, scorching their flesh. But it wouldn’t kill them…and they still didn’t know what would.

  And on a personal note, Olivia didn’t know what she was going to do about one gorgeous, impossibly complicated shape-shifter.

  Though she and Jamie had ridden with Aiden throughout the long day’s drive, the conversation between them had been…strained. For a while she’d managed to keep him talking with questions about the things Kierland had learned and how the information would be passed on to the other Watchmen units around the world. She’d also touched on the admission Aiden had made during the dawn meeting, when she’d learned that he’d already started working to get his hands on the medication that Jamie would need in order to fly, since he’d wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

  She’d even talked to him about her father’s marriage to Monica and Chloe’s mother, which had been when she’d first learned about the secretive, mysterious world of the clans. Then they’d talked more about Jamie’s father, who’d claimed not only that he couldn’t handle the responsibility of a child, but also that he didn’t like the way he always felt so “out of control” around Monica. He hadn’t known about her dormant Merrick blood or the fact that she was half witch, but he’d obviously been affected by the Mallory curse.

  That conversation had led to one about the ongoing search for her stepsister Chloe, but eventually Olivia’s questions had dried up, since she hadn’t been able to bring herself to broach the subject of Jamie’s Mallory powers and how it related to the Casus’s hunt for her niece, her terror and fear over that particular topic still too fresh. Aiden had fallen back into another heavy silence, leaving her to keep Jamie entertained. For a while they’d sung songs and played games, and then Jamie had asked for some paper and her crayons, keeping herself busy with her artwork for the rest of the drive.

  Now, as Olivia stared at her reflection in the steamed surface of the hotel bathroom mirror, she could only marvel at the dazed, lovesick expression on her flushed face. She was too turned on, and not just in a sexual sense, though the guy had certainly blown her circuits. But there was an electric energy buzzing beneath her skin that made everything seem different. Sounds were clearer. Colors brighter. God only knew that she needed to shut down, pulling back into her calm, emotionless shell, but her old fail-safes had abandoned her, leaving her high and dry without any protection. Any armor.

  As she finished pulling on some clean jeans and a T-shirt, she opened the bathroom door onto the small living room that joined their rooms together and found Aiden sitting on the floor talking to Jamie as she colored another picture from one of her coloring books. Kellan and Noah were out running patrol, all of them on edge, worried about what might happen next. Morgan had gone to bed to get some rest before her turn at running the perimeter with Aiden came up in a few hours, and though Aiden needed to get some sleep as well, he’d offered to watch Jamie so that Olivia could grab a quick shower.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, she listened as he said, “You have weapons, Jamie. Ones you can use if you’re ever scared or in danger.”

  “But I’m too tiny,” her niece argued, her small face scrunched in concentration as she struggled to color within the lines.

  “That’s not a bad thing, sweetheart. You might be tiny, but you’re still tough. Just remember that you’re small and fast enough to get somewhere that an adult can’t reach you. Use that against them. And whatever you do, don’t ever give up. You’re smart and you’re strong, and don’t ever let any jerk tell you otherwise, you understand?”

  Jamie nodded, then set down her crayon, moved to her feet and threw her arms around Aiden’s neck, giving him a fierce hug that made Olivia’s eyes water. Forcing herself to move before she started blubbering like a baby, she walked into the room and grabbed Jamie’s backpack, stowing her things away. “Come on, sweetie pie. It’s time for bed.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Jamie protested, sticking out her bottom lip. “I wanna stay with Aiden.”

  Olivia reached down and affectionately ruffled her niece’s silky curls. “You’ll be able to spend all day tomorrow with Aiden while we’re driving. But right now you need to get your beauty sleep.”

  Jamie gave in with a long, dramatic sigh, then took the backpack from Olivia and rooted around inside until she found what she was looking for. Taking out one of the pictures she’d drawn that afternoon, the little girl turned and handed the paper to Aiden. “I made this for you.”

  Olivia could see the shock of surprise in his hazel eyes, the warmth of his easy grin as he thanked Jamie for the “beautiful picture,” making her feel as if something had reached inside her and taken hold of her heart, grasping it in a firm, unbreakable grip. Needing a moment to collect herself, she took a smiling Jamie into the room where Morgan was sleeping, and tucked her up in the second queen-size bed. Whispering one of the little girl’s favorite bedtime stories to her, Olivia waited for Jamie to fall into a sound sleep, then tucked the covers up under her pointed little chin. When she walked back into the living room, she found Aiden still sitting on the floor, staring at Jamie’s drawing. Color burned along the sharp crests of his cheekbones when he sensed her presence, as if he were embarrassed that she’d caught him still sitting there, and he moved to his feet, heading toward the other bedroom.

  Hoping that he might open up and talk to her now that they were alone—and ready to demand that he do it, if he tried to avoid her—Olivia followed him. “You’re good with her,” she told him, standing just inside the open doorway.

  “You think?” he asked, grabbing his duffel bag and setting it on the foot of the nearest bed.

  She rubbed the slow ache in her wounded arm, reminding herself that if she could stand up to a psychopathic Casus, she could stand up to Aiden. “I do,” she told him. “And in case you didn’t notice, she adores you.”

  Aiden made a low sound in his throat that could have passed for a laugh, if it hadn’t been quite so gruff with emotion. “She adores all men. Just look at her with Noah and Kell.”

  “She likes them, but you’re different.” He grunted in response, carefully sliding Jamie’s drawing into his bag as she went on to say, “And speaking of Noah, we didn’t get a chance to talk about it yet, but Kellan told me about…what’s going on. About how Noah’s trying to save his family. I feel like such a jerk for the way I reacted yesterday. I’ve apologized to Noah, but I still feel awful.”

  “He’s a big boy,” he drawled, knowing his jealousy was ridiculous. But he couldn’t stop its slow burn through his body. “He can take it.”

  “Still, it was wrong of me to react that way.”

  He slid her a narrow, curious look. “Most humans wouldn’t trust him, even knowing that he’s trying to do the right thing.”

  “And I’m not like most,” she said gently, holding him with that smoky, luminous gaze. “Or haven’t you realized that yet?”

  It wasn’t easy, but Aiden forced himself to look away from her. “You’re complicated,” he muttered, rummaging in his bag for a fresh pair of boxers to put on after his shower. “I’ll give you that. Hell, I’m still trying to figure you out.”

  She met the words with a blast of silence and he locked his jaw, his emotions so on edge, he felt like a high-tension wire. He hated the way things were coming down. The threat of the Death-Walkers thrown on top of their war against the Casus. The attack on Ravenswing. All of it. He wasn’t crazy about going to England, but he wanted everyone in one place, where they could watch each others’ backs. True, it was cold and wet there a lot of the time, but he’d suck it up and deal, if it meant it was best for everyone. But he hated the idea of getting on a plane, where they’d be pathetically vulnerable if those vaporous assholes decided to attack.

  Christ, he hated the whole screwed-up situation.

  From the corner of his eye he watched as Liv moved a little farther into the room…then shut the door behind her. “What’s going on, Aiden?�
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  He took a deep breath. Slowly let it out. Then turned his head to look at her. “With what?”

  “With us. Is this it?” she asked, the soft words vibrating with emotion. “We have sex and then you dump me? Was I that bad? Boring? What? If you’re trying to spare my feelings, I wish you wouldn’t. Just get it over with and spit it out already.”

  Hah! As if there was anything boring about Olivia Harcourt. The woman was like a force of nature crashing over him, ripping through him. She was electric. Hypnotic. And completely addictive.

  Quietly she said, “I know you don’t owe me anything. I mean, I knew exactly what I was getting into last night. But…I need to know where we are now. I need to know what’s going on inside your head.”

  Oh, hell no, he thought, inwardly cringing. That was the last thing she needed to know.

  Aiden figured the smartest thing he could do at the moment was turn his back and tell her to get the hell out of his room, but he couldn’t even turn away from her. Couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not when she was looking at him like that, her violet eyes smoldering with desire…burning with something deeper. Something powerful and strong and bright that rocked him to the core. Made him wish that he could be something he wasn’t.

  “I’m on a hair trigger tonight, Liv.” He had to force the words out, fighting to make them sound human. “Don’t push me.”

  Her lips trembled with emotion, but she didn’t back down. Didn’t run. “Why shouldn’t I?” she said unsteadily, her hands knotting into small fists at her sides before she crossed them over her chest. “You’re always pushing me. Maybe I’ve decided it’s time I push back.”

  “If you’re smart,” he muttered, “you won’t.”

  “Damn it, Aiden!” Her temper flared, blasting against him like a hot wind. “Just be a man and admit that you’re sorry we slept together!”

  “I’m not sorry,” he growled, wishing that he was better with this kind of crap. Emotional confessions had never been a strong point of his, but then no one had ever twisted him up like Liv.