Death's Redemption (The Eternal Lovers Series) (10 page)

The touch was so gentle and delicate, so at odds with the violent wave of anger pulsating from him into her. Shivering, she stood still, wishing like hell she could just snap his finger off.

“Don’t touch me.”

His smile was pure rogue—two parts sensual, one part danger. She could feel the tension inside him, the coiling of emotions, the way his body shifted and moved, the way the air suddenly tasted charged, like a darkened sky a second before the storm. Everything inside her stilled. Death was just about as powerful as they came.

She’d not been with HPA long; most of what she’d learned concerning the
others
had been taught to her, handed down from generation to generation of O’Fallen women. Those with sight needed to understand that from the moment they’d been born they would always be on the run from those who wanted to possess what they did not own.

But what irritated her most wasn’t her power to “see.” It was the fact that when it came to her life, all she’d ever been able to see was darkness interspersed with fuzz. She could make out bits, but that was it.

Bits.

She’d seen Frenzy, but hadn’t known what he was. She’d not seen that she would die last night (maybe it was last night; time seemed irrelevant now) and that she’d come back as a…a freak. A monster.

“It makes you crazy, doesn’t it?” His low, throaty voice made her body ache in the most annoying places. She hadn’t had a man in over a year, and being with one so virile wasn’t helping matters.

Digging her nails into her thighs, she lifted her nose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Full lips curved into a wicked smile, making her think terribly naughty thoughts. Like sucking on them, having them suck on her. His scent was driving her mad too.

She hated being a freak. Hated that she could smell the slide of sweat run out of his pores, how it teased her nose with a hint of sage and spice. Made her mind wander into the gutter, tread into places she’d vowed never to tread into again.

“The fact that you want me so damn bad.”

Heart fluttering, panic flooded the back of her throat. “Get over yourself.”

Either he was actually tired, or he refused to let her goad him. Turning his back on her, he walked casually back to his bed as if she hadn’t ruffled his feathers just a second ago and, with a hop, landed on the mattress with his arms crossed behind his head and his eyes already closed.

“Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

“Just like that, O’Fallen.” He nodded, still not looking at her.

“God, you’re infuriating!” She did stomp her foot then. “Do you realize having me here is like hugging a ticking time bomb? It’ll find me;
then
what are you gonna do, Mr. Big and Bad?”

“Come to bed,” he muttered, rolling over.

Realizing she’d been staring at him, she finally blinked. “I wish you’d put some clothes on.”

Growling, he rolled over. “You want me in clothes?”

“Yes!”

“Do you?” He reminded her a little of her neighbor’s pit bull growing up. The way his lip was curled back and how he was visibly vibrating.

Her gran had always told her she pushed things too far thanks to her stubborn Irish temper and that one day she’d get bit. She had been bit—it hadn’t stopped her then, and it wouldn’t stop her now.

“No.” He laughed and she bristled.

“Is that the way it’s gonna be with us, then? You say no, I say okay?” she asked in a low, heated whisper, because if she said it any louder she’d scream and act like a raving banshee.

Giving her that wicked smile of his again, he didn’t say another word. But he didn’t have to.

“Chauvinistic pig,” she spat. “If I’m such a nuisance, why’d ye save me, then?” Mila had worked hard at softening the hard brogue, and slipping up was a sure sign she was seconds from completely losing her head.

“O’Fallen—”

“It’s bloody Mila!”

“We’ve discussed this. That matter is settled and closed. I want sleep. If you don’t stop talking, I’ll make you.”

“Oh yeah?” Her laughter lacked humor. “And just how do ye plan to do it?”

“Like this.” It was all the warning he gave her.

She knew she moved fast; she felt the vertigo of it each time she jumped. But what Frenzy did, it wasn’t just fast. He literally vanished from one second to the next.

Somehow she wound up not on the bed, or even on the floor, but over his lap, ass up.

“What the bloody hell is this?” she roared, kicking her legs at him, but his strength was absolute and unyielding.

“This is me giving you one last chance to stop now before I take this to the next level of foreplay.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to demand he release her, but now his hand was framing her rear and she couldn’t believe how hot it felt through the fabric of her jeans. How rough and coarse the blue jeans felt against her sensitized skin, how the way he glided it softly from one side to the other made her breathing stutter and pulse rocket.

Shuddering, she inhaled weakly, completely at his mercy. And she wasn’t one bit sorry for how he made her feel, or even ashamed of these emotions. Frenzy was hot. Period. She might deny it to him, but never to herself. She’d wanted him to touch her this way from the moment she’d woken up in that shifter’s cave.

“It’s not even a challenge with you,” he growled.

That did it. It was one thing to want to scratch an itch; she was here, they might as well. Two consenting adults, nothing wrong with that. But to toss her emotions away the way he just had, to make her seem…pathetic…

She slapped him. And it didn’t matter that she was bent over the way she’d been; there was strength in her body now and she used all of it. She laughed when he cursed and dumped her to the ground. His face bore a bright red welt now.

“O death, where is your sting?” She laughed and for the first time in hours forgot herself, forgot that she was wanted by every last freaking immortal on earth, be it faerie, shadow, or otherwise. Forgot that if she’d had her way, she’d be pushing up daisies, not sitting here mocking someone who two days ago would have made her pee her pants to meet in person.

“Woman.” Burrowing fingers through his fiery locks, he glared at her.

It was kind of fun knowing she could goad him this way. Because even though he was the grim reaper, she wasn’t scared to die.

“I know what you’re doing and this isn’t going to work. You can make me angry all you want, I will not kill you.”

Rolling her eyes, she stood.

“There are worse things than dying.” His teeth looked vicious in his face when he smiled that way.

“Yeah, like being stuck here with you. Do you even have a plan?” She glared back.

“Other than putting duct tape on your mouth, you mean?” His eyes sparked with something, something she couldn’t quite name.

It was dark and seductive, and made her body ache and crave and need and…

“I can’t stay here with you. I just can’t. If you’re not going to kill me, then take me to Ireland, where I’d planned to go already.”

Shaking his head, he rolled over, yanking the covers over him, finally.

Too hard to think when he was naked.

“It’s too dangerous.”

Clenching her fists, she realized trading barbs was likely to get her nowhere with him. So maybe being sweet would be the way to winning him over.

“Please.” And just to further sweeten the deal, she smiled.

Suddenly the lights in the room dimmed. Startled, she jerked, expecting to find a phantom or boogeyman crawling through a window.

“I did it. Settle down,” he said in that gravelly voice of his that always made her feel like her skin was too tight on her body.

Brows lowering, she turned to him. “How?”

He tapped his forehead.

“What, with your thoughts?”

When he didn’t immediately answer she took that to mean a “yes.”

“You can do that?”

Narrowing sexy bedroom eyes, he cocked his head. “I thought you said you knew all about us.”

“I might have been bluffing. A little.”

This time when he smiled it wasn’t all teeth, it was a slow, sensuous curl of lips. Made her chest feel suddenly tight, the room a little too warm. Shouldn’t these very human feelings have vanished after the change? She couldn’t understand why she was acting this way.

She’d never been this big of a horndog in life. Mila had enjoyed sex, more so with certain partners than with others, but now it was all she could seem to think about. She closed her eyes, needing to stop looking at him so much. Maybe that would help.

“Do you have any family left?”

Eyes snapping open, she couldn’t believe her ears. “I have a great-uncle.” Just saying the word brought a pang of homesickness so swift and strong it very nearly brought her to tears. It’d been too long since last she’d seen home.

“Why’d you leave?” He asked it quietly, and she wondered at the sudden shift in his mood.

Was he actually contemplating it? Had she finally figured him out?

Realizing she was getting somewhere, she smiled wistfully. “To keep me safe. Ireland was too full of those who knew me, who’d sell me out for a bit of coin and brew. But,” she was quick to add, “I’ve no plans to return to the old village. I plan to lose myself in Dublin, blend in with the masses.”

His silver eyes were dark in the night, but she felt the press of them, even separated as they were. Trying to ignore the ragged beat of her heart, or the fact that he was still very naked and she was totally turned on, she swallowed.

“And yet you joined HPA, practically ensuring you’d get caught?” His deep voice shivered across her heated flesh.

Hmm…maybe he wasn’t quite falling for the sweet, naïve Mila. Straightening her spine, she decided to just be honest.

“I screwed up, okay? I did something and knew the second I did it, I shouldn’t have.”

If he was curious as to what it was she’d done, he didn’t ask. “Hide in plain sight, that it?”

Planting her hands on her hips, she defied him to tell her she was stupid. Idiotic. A dumb twit who’d obviously wanted to be found and have her soul consumed. She hadn’t. Mila loved life. Loved who she’d been. The line of women she’d come from, it’d meant something. There was pride in it. Defending the line. Only she’d never gotten around to passing the line on.

She’d been killed before she could. She’d shamed the O’Fallen clan by not passing on the gift. The line had died with her and for that she’d be forever sorry. She’d not known she was running out of time, she’d always hoped there’d be more of it. That at any moment she would meet her Prince Charming. Would fall in love, make beautiful babies, and teach all she knew to the next generation.

“You’re more than meets the eye, O’Fallen.” Were her eyes deceiving her, or had he just smiled? And had he also complimented her? Because that seriously sounded like one.

“It’s Mila,” she corrected automatically. “Does that mean you’ll take me back to my homeland?”

He snorted. “No. Do you take me for a fool? Think your smiles and charm would make me change my mind?”

Seeing red, she glowered. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh please”—he waved his hand down her body—“give me flirty glances, tease me, laugh with me. Tell me touching life stories and suddenly I’ll forget that all you’ve been wanting since waking up is to find someone willing to kill you? Do you take me for a fool, woman?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, she barely refrained from jumping on him and clawing his eyes out.

“Odds are you likely know a killer in Dublin, or someplace close, who’ll do the deed. No. You’re not dying.”

“Screw you, death,” she sneered, because that hadn’t been what she’d planned to do at all. All her life she’d promised that one day she’d return to her home, one day she’d step foot back on Irish soil and breathe in that clean Irish air. She’d died before she’d gotten to fulfill that promise.

“Fate’s done a good enough job of that, thanks.” Then the last light went off, throwing them into pitch darkness.

“That’s it, then?” She tossed her hands up in the air. “Won’t talk to me anymore? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

But he didn’t say another word and she knew she’d lost that battle. Turning on her heel, she walked out the door, slamming it behind her as hard as possible. Hoping to even rip it off its hinges, but he must have built it to withstand the rigors of an immortal’s strength, because all it did was slam loudly.

If she’d stayed in there another minute she would have lunged at him. And very likely would have lost. If only he were human—she was suddenly feeling murderous tendencies.

Her gran had also taught her something else, one lesson she’d actually taken to heart. Sometimes you might lose the battle, but that didn’t mean you had to lose the war.

But right now, she was starving. As much as she kept trying to ignore her body’s constant, and very painful, hunger pangs, it was obvious to her she needed food.

Since he wanted to sleep and she was so far from wanting that, she headed back into the kitchen, glaring at the knife in the sink one final time before heading to the fridge.

Normally rummaging around in someone else’s house was something she wouldn’t entertain; a home was a person’s sanctuary. But A) Frenzy was no person, he was the devil incarnate, and B) he’d brought her here.

Opening the door, she studied the contents. Beer, some bread, a carton of eggs, half a gallon of skim milk. There were about three red apples in the crisper and a paper-wrapped block of cheese in the butter drawer.

None of which remotely piqued her interest.

Stomach feeling as if it was going to gnaw itself in half, she snatched up the cheese and bread. Not even bothering to warm it, grabbing a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese, she piled them together and took a huge bite.

Then she gasped as the food she chewed on tasted like rancid, spoiled milk. Gagging, she rushed to the sink and spit it out, stomach heaving as she tried to rid all traces of it from her tongue. Opening a cabinet, she grabbed a glass and filled it with water, swallowing three cupfuls before the rotten taste disappeared.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, grabbing hold of her stomach as the knifing pain intensified. Vampires didn’t eat solids. But shifters did. She’d seen them do it a time or two, except now when she thought of it, they were more about the red meat than dairy.