Insatiable Desire (17 page)

Human blood pumping through his veins tonight, he flung a squirrel and then a rabbit into the air and watched them splatter onto the rocks, guts spilling out as their bodies exploded.

He’d lost Daisy’s soul to her mother, and she’d crossed to the light, but he still maintained a faint hold on the others.

All because of Clarissa.

She was stronger than he’d thought, stronger than her mother. She was supposed to crack, yet she was holding the girls back from giving in to him.

Worse, she was bringing out the good in Vincent.

He’d seen Vincent and Clarissa together on the porch from where he watched in the shadows of the oaks. Yes, Valtrez was part animal, his natural instincts surfacing as he’d ground his cock against the woman.

But succumbing to Clarissa could prove to be his fatal weakness as a Dark Lord.

For she held the key to destroying the dark entity inside him. Or at least controlling it.

Pan needed Valtrez out of control. Needed him savoring the feel of death on his hands, the taste of blood as his own father had taught him when he’d sucked it from a mutilated animal. Needed him craving the evil as much as he craved the flesh of a woman.

He had to destroy Clarissa before Valtrez had her.

Tonight had been a start. The dead woman in the tree. The reminder of her mother’s insanity.

Taunting her with the fact that she hadn’t been able to save either woman.

Just as she couldn’t save Valtrez.

He knew the way to get to him, too. Torture him with reminders of his past. Twist time from his mind and guide him back to the blackouts.

And to his destiny as a master of the darkness.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Three days until the rising

V
incent stared at the predawn sky, noting the way the sun forced its way through the tops of the ridges in shades of red, gold, and orange, just like Sadie Sue’s eyes. The temperature had climbed near a hundred degrees, the heat like an oppressive blanket covering the land.

But the light hurt his eyes. He preferred the night, thrived in the darkness.

Just like the monster who’d strangled Daisy Wilson and hanged her in the Devil’s Tree.

He could still see her body dangling helplessly above the dry, parched ground, the bugs nipping at her decaying flesh, her sightless eyes empty of life and full of terror.

Upstairs, he heard a moan, then a cry, and instincts sent him flying up the steps. Had the killer returned to attack Clarissa? Was he trying to strangle her now?

Was that her greatest fear? Had it been Daisy’s?

The stairs squeaked as his boots pounded them, and he drew his gun as he rounded the corner. Holding his breath, he peered inside her bedroom, pausing to listen for an intruder as he searched the interior.

Sheers draped the window, flapping as the ceiling fan twirled above, and a faint sliver of morning sunlight streaked her bed. Clarissa cried out again, twisting the sheets in her hands as she rolled to her side. Then she pummeled her pillow as if she was battling an attacker.

He saw no one in the room, though, no one but the silent monsters in her dreams. His pulse clamored, his chest tight. If he had any sense at all, he’d leave her to fight the ghosts on her own.

But the pain in her cry shredded his common sense. It had been too long of a night. Compassion mixed with desire and drove him to her bed with the bone-frenzied need to soothe her cries.

Wulf growled, and Vincent knelt and stroked his head. “Shh. I’m here to protect her, too.” The dog tilted his head and stared at Vincent, and a silent understanding passed between them, as if the dog might be half human.

“Clarissa.” He gently laid his hand on her shoulder. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Instead she sobbed and kicked at the bedcovers, knocking them to the floor.

“Clarissa . . .” Slowly he lowered himself onto the knotted sheets and murmured her name again. He didn’t know how to help her, how to be soft and gentle, didn’t even know if he had it in him, but he stroked her hair from her tear-stained cheeks. “Shh, it’s all right. You’re safe now.”

“Save the girls,” she whispered. “They’re lost, hanging in limbo. Have to save them.”

Clarissa was so unselfish. Even though she knew this demon might come after her, she was still worried about others. The realization stirred something deep inside Vincent, knotting his stomach, and he stretched out beside her and pulled her into his arms. She felt so warm and soft that the ice in his heart melted.

“We will save them,” he murmured. “And I’ll protect you, too.”

She opened her eyes and looked up into his, her expression tormented.

“You were having a nightmare,” he said in a gruff voice.

“No,” she said softly. “The dead came to me. So many of them. I can’t help them all . . .”

He clenched his jaw, understanding her feeling of helplessness.

“Daisy never saw his face,” Clarissa whispered. “She never had a chance. But Daisy has faith. She refused to relinquish her soul. She crossed into the light.”

He had no idea what to say, couldn’t mutter false promises of hope when he didn’t yet know exactly what they were up against.

A well of sadness filled her eyes, then she curled up next to him and drifted back to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, holding her as he listened to her breathe, guarding her in case the killer returned, staving off the demons that chased her in her sleep and the ghosts that haunted her day and night.

Bastard that he was, he’d promised to protect her.

That meant protecting her from the monster that lived within him, as well.

Unbidden, though, his urges emerged.

His body wanted her. His hand ached to slide beneath her gown and stroke her flesh. His sex craved her wet heat.

And he wasn’t certain he possessed enough willpower to keep from taking her if she invited him into her bed again.

When Clarissa awakened again, sunlight streaked the room and Vincent was gone, leaving her alone and aching for his arms.

A mixture of horror and dread consumed her. During the night, the spirits had emerged through the shocked fog of their sudden deaths, their helpless pleas wrenching Clarissa’s heart.

Yet each time she’d felt Vincent’s arms around her, her resolve to remain strong deepened. And so did the bond between them. She only hoped that together they could fight the evil spreading across the town.

She hurried downstairs and found Vincent on the back porch with a mug of coffee, his body rigid as he stared into the dense woods. The mountains seemed eerily quiet this morning, like the calm before a terrible storm.

“Vincent?”

“I questioned Hadley Crane last night. Something’s not adding up with him.”

Clarissa pressed her hand to her throat. “You think he’s the killer?”

He exhaled. “I don’t know. He said he was at work after three. I talked to the coroner while you were sleeping, and Daisy Wilson died before noon. When I phoned Crane to check his alibi, his mother said he took off this morning like he does every morning. She hasn’t heard from him since. She thinks he goes into the woods.”

“I still don’t think he’s methodical enough to pull off these crimes,” Clarissa asked.

He nodded. “I agree. And there’s not enough for a search warrant, either.” Vincent’s jaw tightened. “The air is different now,” he said in an oddly low voice. “I smell blood in the forest. Death.”

A painful breath lodged against her breastbone. “You think the killer struck again?”

“It’s not a human’s blood,” Vincent said. “But animals, yes. And more than one.”

She leaned against the porch rail for support.

His heels clicked as he pivoted toward her, the pain and emptiness in his eyes making her heart clench. Dark beard stubble shaded his jaw, and the memory of his arms around her sent a tingle of need through her.

His gaze fell to her breasts, and her nipples hardened beneath her thin cotton gown. With the sun pouring down on her, he could probably see through the transparent material. She should walk away, run, but she couldn’t tear herself from him. She wanted him to look, to touch, to feel.

His jaw tensed, the hunger that fired his eyes so primal that her mouth watered and moisture pooled between her thighs.

“Get dressed, Clarissa.”

Remembering his arms holding her during her nightmares, his strong body pressed close to hers, the heady odor of his skin, she reached for him, wanting Vincent to hold her again. Wanting him to touch her with his hands the way he had with those eyes.

“I warned you to stay away from me, Clarissa.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Vincent.”

“You should be. I told you I’m dangerous, just like my father was.”

But his gaze lingered on her breasts, his breathing growing labored. She touched his hand, and hunger flared in his eyes. Clarissa momentarily forgot about the danger. She wanted him desperately, had wanted him since the first minute she’d seen him at the police station. And last night, lying next to him, having him hold her had taken their relationship to a different level. She’d sensed a tender side of him that lay buried beneath the rubble of his pain, buried so deeply she doubted he knew it existed.

Aching to ease his suffering, she reached for him. He threw up his hands and backed away from her. “Don’t.”

“Why not? You want me. I want you. And in the midst of all this death and evil, making love with you is the only thing that makes sense to me right now.”

“I don’t make love to anyone,” he said gruffly. With a scowl, he stalked down the steps.

“Where are you going?”

“To hunt for that cave of black rock. I think it’s the place where the killer takes his victims.”

She hurried down the steps and grabbed his arm. “Let me go with you.”

He jerked away from her touch. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

Then he disappeared into the wooded mountains, leaving her alone and aching for his return.

The metallic taste of blood nearly overpowered Vincent as he jogged into the wooded mountains, although the taste of Clarissa’s lips from that heated kiss warmed him, helping to stifle his urge for a kill and replacing it with raw desire for her.

Hell. His body throbbed incessantly, driving him insane. It was almost as if sex fed his body, was the only thing that kept him alive, that kept him from killing.

Disgust filled him. He wanted her. No doubt about that. In fact, even as he’d backed away, all he’d been able to do was stare at her breasts. Her nipples had stiffened and made his head swim with desire. Beneath that see-through gown lay the softest, sweetest heat. His primal instincts told him it begged for his cock.

Dammit, he could practically taste her damp juices on his tongue.

Shocking that she could talk to the dead but hadn’t run from him like she should. She probably thought she could save his soul like she did the spirits hanging in limbo.

Wanting her was becoming an obsession, the need shattering his concentration. The next time she asked him, he might accept her offer. Get her out of his system once and for all.

Show her what a heartless bastard he was beneath. A bastard like his father.

Other memories followed. His father whipping him with a leather strap. Teaching him how to hunt, to sniff out the prey. How to gut an animal with a pocketknife and drink blood from its wounds.

The razor blade cuts on his back where he’d tortured him in the name of proving he was a man. The way his father had thrown out his hands and tossed fire into the woods. The animals scurrying for safety.

Too late. Their bones crunched between his father’s brutal hands.

He paused and flexed his fingers in front of him, studying them. Could he start fires with his hands?

He closed his eyes to concentrate, then opened them and flung them outward, but no fire erupted. Yet a tree in front of him cracked and splintered. He tried again and rocks went crumbling. Another thrust and two small trees exploded.

He did possess a supernatural power, not as a firestarter, but he could make things explode. He shook with the realization. Could no longer deny that he had demon blood running through his veins.

Suddenly the air swirled around him, hot and filled with the scent of blood. He spotted a rabbit that had been ripped apart, its insides strewn across a rock. The work of an animal or sadistic man?

Or maybe a demon, like his father.

Another few yards down, he found several dead squirrels and rabbits, their bodies also shattered, guts strewn on the parched ground. The stench of larger animals filled the humid air, robbing his breath.

Following the blood trail, he spent the day tracking other kills, each time his stomach clenching at the brutality.

An old mine drew his eyes, and he checked it out but found no one inside. Just bats, their eyes piercing the darkness.

Ominous gray clouds cluttered the sky, the heat oppressive and accentuating the vile stench of death. Slowly the blackness crept over him, sucking him into its abyss. He tried to fight the sadistic, seductive lure, but the pull was too strong.

He was going to black out. Lose time.

Lapse into one of the black holes.

He staggered, clawed for control, tried to fight it. His head swam, and the trees twirled and blurred, the jagged stone of the mountains reaching for him like giant monster’s arms.

The heavy pull of evil begged him to succumb, his father’s voice echoing off the hills. He closed his eyes, time slipping away as the darkness engulfed him.

Then he heard the whisper of a voice, low and lethal, telling him that Clarissa might be dead before he returned.

And that her blood would be on his hands.

Cary Gimmerson tried to scream as she looked down at the steep ridges below, but her vocal cords refused to work. How had she wound up in the mountains on this ridge?

Slowly, through the fog of her confused mind, the past hour rolled back. She’d brought her dog to the park for a walk and he’d run off, then she’d chased him and gotten lost.

Then what? She’d fallen . . . collapsed . . . someone had struck her from behind?

When she’d roused to consciousness, the sun had completely blinded her. But a man’s voice had soothed her, and he’d lifted her in his arms and carried her up the hill, up the ridge.