Edge of Hunger (31 page)

They made love throughout the long hours of the morning and afternoon, while the storms rolled overhead, both of them lost in the scorching, breathtaking burn of passion that bound them together, doing their best not to think of what lay ahead.

But they knew that with each moment that passed by, evil was coming closer...drawing nearer.

And when it hit, someone--or something--was going to die.

Laurente, Saturday Evening

WHILE ITS FROTHY LEAVES blew gently in the humid breeze, Malcolm DeKreznick rested his shoulders against the sturdy trunk of an ancient weeping willow...and ran the back of his hand across his mouth. His lips were moist...slick, and looking down, he could see the crimson smear of blood they'd left on his wrist. The Southern-fried farm girl he'd just killed had been sweet--and if he tried, he swore he could still taste her screams lingering on his tongue, just like candy.

He'd discovered, firsthand, that Southern hospitality really was as charming as they claimed.

Malcolm had found her skinny-dipping out in her daddy's pond a few hours ago, and had been unable to resist, knowing he needed his energy for the coming battle. Chuckling softly under his breath, he licked his lips, realizing he'd never even gotten her name. But it didn't matter. Who she'd been was no longer important. She belonged to him now, forever, same as the others. That warm, heady wash of life flowing from her--taken so effortlessly--to become something all his own. It'd been like raping her soul, as well as her body, and he'd loved it. Craved it. It was what his kind had been born for. What Malcolm had fought so hard to come back for, just so he could experience it again...and again.

Only one dark spot marred his pleasure. He hadn't realized he would have competition for the Markers so soon. But he'd recently learned that two more of his kind had already been sent through the gate, back from Meridian, in exactly the same way as him. The knowledge didn't sit well with Malcolm. He wanted Buchanan's Marker, and had no qualms about killing his kinsmen for it, should they try to take it from him. Calder would be furious, but then Calder was already going to be angry with him for killing so many, so quickly. Malcolm had been incessantly lectured about the need to be conservative--but the choice had been taken out of his hands.

After Kendra Wilcox, his hunger had grown too strong, too quickly. It'd swelled up inside of him each time a woman had caught his eye, spurring him on, impossible to resist.

This is yours...take it...take it. It's what you were made for. It's your right, your due. Haven't you gone without for long enough?

Still, he'd tried to control it. He'd taken down a deer on Sunday, but that had been before he was forced to watch Buchanan and his woman leave with that Watchman, snatched from his reach, when he'd had such inspired plans for them. Even from his place within the woods, Malcolm had sensed the talisman on the delicate little blond as they'd left her motel room, and in his frustration, the hunger had consumed him. To satisfy his craving, he'd needed the full, gratifying effect of his power, his domination, over his prey. Needed a woman under him, whimpering, begging for her life. Needed to see that perfect moment spill over her face when he showed her his true, beautiful self. There was nothing in the world quite like it.

Afterward, he'd hidden the teenager in the canyon, making it look like a wild kill, but he'd known Buchanan would realize the truth when he heard about it. Malcolm had wanted the Merrick slime to understand that he wasn't going to just sit around and twiddle his thumbs.

The wind picked up, blowing the low clouds across the ethereal glow of the Carolina moon, darkening the sky, and his blood-covered lips curled in a welcoming smile. The sweet sinful night was his favorite hour, when darkness fell...and fears arose. When shadows stroked their chilled fingers down the length of a spine...at times causing the most hardened souls to peer over their shoulders for fear of what lurked within the midnight black.

Mankind was so much fun to play with when afraid--and yet, Malcolm was growing tired of easy prey. He wanted the Merrick, and tonight he was finally going to get him.

Lurking within the nighttime shadows, Malcolm had watched as Buchanan packed up his truck on Thursday night. A nosey neighbor had stepped outside her doorway, wanting to know where he'd been all week, telling him his brother had been looking for him. Buchanan had shouted back the words South Carolina, and Malcolm had smiled, thinking how sweet it was that the man was running home for a change.

Not that he'd needed to be told where Buchanan was headed. The bastard could have tried to run and hide at the far reaches of the earth, and Malcolm would have been able to track him down. But he was happy with his choice. He'd never been to South Carolina, but he'd imagined he was going to enjoy a change of scenery--and he had.

After he'd watched the Merrick drive away and had dealt with Aubrey Rodgers, he'd decided to go back to Joe Kelly's condo...pack a bag, and head to the airport himself. He could have driven Kelly's truck, but he didn't want to waste the time it would take. Calder had assured him that he'd know how to function in the modern world once he found his host--and he'd been right. Malcolm had retained all of poor Joe's mundane memories, as pathetic as they were. He could have even walked into his office and plodded away at that worthless job of his. Not that he needed to. Money was never going to be a problem for him. Calder had already seen to that, and quite nicely, too.

Drawing in a deep breath of moist, fertile-scented air into his lungs, Malcolm could barely contain his excitement as he considered his prospects for the future. The anticipation was so ripe in his gut, he could almost taste it. Once he finished destroying Buchanan and had possession of the Marker, he would free his brother. Then, with Gregory at his side, he planned on burning a path of destruction through this buttoned-down, stiff-lipped modern world the likes of which had never been seen.

And no one would be able to stop him.

AS THE LAZY AFTERNOON bled into evening and darkness fell, thunder rumbled in the distance, signaling the beginnings of another summer storm. That was normal for this time of year, Ian knew, and yet, it had still felt like a warning of things to come.

He had no doubt the Casus would arrive tonight. And he knew Molly could feel it, too, like something heavy and thick settled in the center of his chest that made itself known with each slow, deep breath.

After sharing an easy meal of sandwiches and chips, they sat on the floor in the living room, each with a cold beer from the cooler he'd picked up in town yesterday when he'd gone shopping for essentials, listening as the latest storm rolled away. Staring at her profile from the corner of his eye, Ian recalled how he'd spent so much time over the course of the past week wondering what it was about her that made him so hungry--and not just in a physical sense. Not just for her blood, as mouthwatering as it was. And not just for sex, though sex with her was beyond anything he'd ever experienced.

When he'd taken her beneath him for the second time that morning, he'd paused to savor, to slow down, to enjoy each decadent, pulsing sensation. He'd pushed up on his arms and watched as he thrust into her, staring at the way he penetrated the tender mouth of her body, his cock dark and brutal-looking, her drenched folds tender and glistening and pink. He'd lost himself in the cadence of her breathing, in the touch of her hands...the taste of her mouth and the softness of her skin.

And in the quiet hours of the afternoon, as the storms had raged overhead, when she'd slept, cradled in his arms, exhausted from the hours of physical excess he'd put her through, he'd finally come to an understanding of what made her so special...so different.

He had the answer--he was just too terrified to acknowledge it. But he knew, deep inside, where it counted, what had happened to him. And now that he understood, he wondered if maybe he hadn't been running all those years, so much as he'd been searching for something.

For this. For Molly. For the one person who had the ability to settle him inside, making sense of the darkness...of the chaos, while exciting him in ways he could have never imagined, taking him to levels of pleasure he hadn't even realized existed.

Funny, how he'd had to come full circle, returning to his childhood home, for this miracle to happen. That he had his mother, of all people, to thank for bringing Molly into his life and showing him what it meant to truly care for another person.

"You can still smell the honeysuckle in this place," he murmured, pulling in a deep breath of the faint, familiar scent that he'd always associated with home.

She sent him a curious smile, and he explained. "Elaina's favorite scent was honeysuckle, and she drowned the house in it. Candles and little pots of dried flowers. Lotions and perfumes. I swear to God, Riley and I would go to school smelling like girls half the time."

She laughed, making him want to pull her into his arms and kiss her, just so he could taste that sweet, sexy sound on her lips. But he resisted, wondering what she was thinking, what was going through her mind. She hadn't pressed him for anything. No explanations about his feelings...no promises. No talk of the future, and he was ready to explode. What was she waiting for?

Needing to touch her, Ian reached out, taking hold of her hand, marveling at how small and delicate it felt in his grasp, his fear for her like a living thing inside of him, seething beneath his skin.

"You're afraid for me, aren't you?" she asked, her voice soft...hushed.

"Christ, Molly. Why the hell do you think I came here in the first place?" he grunted. "I was drawing this bastard away from you, and then you go and show up." Cutting a dark look at the swollen, darkening sky through the front window, he said, "It's coming. Tonight. I can feel it."

"I can feel it, too. But it's going to be okay. I know it is. No matter how powerful the Casus is, it's still no match for you."

Ian shook his head at her faith in him, a harsh burst of laughter rumbling in his chest. "I've ruined your life, Molls. Don't you get that? You should be trying to get away from me as fast as you can, not standing up for me, cheering me on."

"IAN, YOU HAVE IT all backward," Molly told him, squeezing his hand. "You didn't ruin anything. You gave me my life back. No matter what happens, I belong here with you, so don't waste your time trying to get rid of me."

"I already tried," he drawled, his tone wry. "You can see how well it worked."

A playful grin curved her mouth. "So what are you going to do now?"

"I dunno," he murmured, leaning his head back, watching her from beneath his lashes, the teasing look in his beautiful blue eyes one of the most beautiful sights she'd ever seen. Molly loved seeing him look so...comfortable, so at ease within his skin...as well as with her, as if he were that much closer to being at peace. "Who knows? Maybe, if I get lucky, I'll be able to fuck some sense into you."

"You're welcome to give it a shot," she quipped. "I doubt it'll work, but God knows I'll enjoy your efforts."

A sharp bark of laughter surged up from his chest and she smiled, wondering if he'd ever been at ease like this before with a woman. She doubted he ever had, and it made her insides light up with a warm, incandescent glow.

"What?" he asked, rubbing his thumb over the delicate points of the hand he still held in his grasp.

Molly set her beer down and lifted her free hand, hooking her hair behind her ear. "I was just thinking that this isn't the way you normally spend your time with women. Talking. Teasing."

He stared at her for a long, breathless moment, then reached out, touching her face with the tips of his fingers. "You're right," he rasped in a deep, velvet-rough voice. "And I'm a selfish bastard for enjoying having you here with me when I know it's putting you in danger. But I can't help it. I want to have as much time with you as I can, Molly, but I'm scared of losing you."

"Won't happen," she whispered, completely undone by his stunning words. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and beg him to love her, but she fought back the impulse, too afraid of how he'd react. Instead, she plastered a teasing smile on her face. "But I don't suppose you have a hidden arsenal anywhere around here? Maybe a Beretta I can unload in him? Shotgun? Uzi?"

He snickered under his breath, shaking his head. "Not that I know of."

"ELAINA DIDN'T BELIEVE in guns, either?" she asked, her tone casual, when Ian knew that what she was really asking was why he didn't believe in them.

"Let's just say that my daddy, before he ran away, was overly fond of them. Which probably wouldn't have been so bad, if he hadn't been as equally fond of Wild Turkey."

Even now, Ian could still remember the terror he'd felt when he'd awakened one night to the sounds of an argument between his parents. Peeking through his bedroom door, he'd witnessed his father holding a gun to his mother's head, screaming for the "demons to be gone."

Ian had known she'd been talking about their ancestors again, which always threw his father into a rage. Elaina's face had been covered in tears, the look in his father's eyes as cold as the metal of the gun he'd held jammed against her temple.

He'd wanted to run to her rescue, but he'd been terrified, standing there frozen with fear, as if his feet had been nailed to the cold hardwood floor. Finally, his father had pushed Elaina away and grabbed his truck keys, storming out of the house. He'd driven away that night in a blind, drunken rage...and they'd never seen him again.

And from that day forward, Ian had never been able to stomach the sight of a gun...and neither had his mother.

"Hey, you in there?" he heard Molly ask softly, and he gave himself a mental shake as the sweet, womanly weight of her body settled over his lap. Her arms lifted around his shoulders, lips pressed to the hard point of his jaw, and he bit back a husky moan. She felt...incredible, as if she'd poured herself over him, covering him in a warm, sweet wave of longing. Wrapped him up in something beautiful and tender and pure. His throat jammed up with emotion, but he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, lowering his head so that he could bury his nose in the warm, silken mass of her hair, breathing her into his body...into his heart...his soul.