Kissed by Darkness (13 page)

Something stronger than vampirism? For a minute, Jack popped into my mind, but I brushed the thought aside.

She stared out the window a bit absently. I didn’t interrupt. I wanted to, but something held me back. I was sort of a jump in with both feet kind of girl. Cordelia struck me as needing a bit more processing time. Must be a cat person thing.

“Yes, it’s definitely something more. Something that hasn’t been seen in this world in a very long time.” Her voice had turned all singsong on me. It was a bit eerie, and that damn cat just kept glaring at me. Talk about creepy. I felt the sudden need to leave. Quickly.

“Great. Thanks for the help, Cordelia. It was good to just talk about it, you know? Makes me feel a little less like a crazy person.” Operative term being “little,” but I didn’t mention that.

Her laugh tinkled out, light and bright as I stood to leave. “Oh, Morgan, you are many things, including crazy, but you’ve yet to lose your sanity.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. She had a point. I definitely had my crazy moments.

As I turned to leave, Bastet hopped off Cordelia’s lap and with the arrogant grace of a goddess, strolled over and rubbed herself against my legs. It was only once, but it was the oddest feeling, as if she’d given me her blessing, a benediction of sorts. Now that was definitely crazy talk.

“See!” Cordelia chirped happily. “I told you she liked you.”

Sure. Just don’t feed her after midnight.

***

I wasn’t sure what I expected from the house of a Sunwalker. Maybe the Bat Cave? Jack’s house was definitely not the Bat Cave. It was a well-kept white Cape Cod thing with a big front porch and shutters painted forest green. The front yard was immaculate with a neatly trimmed lawn and masses of roses perfuming the air. It was so totally Mayberry, it was almost nauseating.

It even came with its own soundtrack. I winced as the budding pianist inside hit a very wrong note before continuing his plodding way through what I was pretty sure was Beethoven’s Ninth. Classic. I remembered it well from my own piano playing days. No doubt I’d played it just as badly once upon a time.

The porch had a couple of very nice deck chairs, so I made myself comfortable in one of them. No point in disturbing the lesson and scaring some poor kid with my badass vampire hunter-ness. It was a great afternoon for just relaxing. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and focused on the low drone of a nearby lawn mower and the distant sound of kids screaming and laughing on a playground. The sun was out, the breeze was light; it nearly put me to sleep.

“To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

I started awake to find Jack looming over me, his face impassive. The breeze kicked up a little, stirred his dark hair and wafted his scent under my nose just enough to kick my hormones into overdrive. Like they needed help.

I tried really hard to avoid staring at his crotch which was, unfortunately, right at eye level. Damn. Too late. What was wrong with me lately? Seriously, my libido was getting way out of control.

I heaved myself somewhat less than gracefully out of the chair and cleared my throat. I wasn’t nervous. Honest. Just, you know, a little unprepared.

“Uh, hey, Jack. How’s it going?”

He quirked a brow at me. Damn, but I hated when people did that. Mostly I hated that I couldn’t do that. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get one brow to go up like that. Maybe I was genetically flawed.

“Listen, I need to talk to you about something.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Come in.” He turned on his heel and strode back through the front door, letting the screen door slam behind him. Apparently being over 900 years old gave one the license to be rude.

I managed to refrain from growling and followed him into his living room. Again, totally not what I expected. The living room was large and light and airy, like any Cape Cod. The floors were beautifully polished maple wood and the walls were painted a creamy, pale buttery yellow. The entire place smelled of cinnamon.

He plopped down on the chocolate chenille couch, which matched the two chairs opposite it, and stretched his jean-clad legs out in front of him. He seemed oblivious to the girly throws and pillows in robins’ egg blue, chocolate and butter yellow. I wondered who’d designed the place for him. I just couldn’t visualize an ancient Templar Knight mucking about with throw pillows and designer swatches. Then again, you never knew about people.

The throws might have been girly, but he certainly was not. His muscular chest under his pale blue T-shirt was giving me heart palpations. Honestly, did he pick out his T-shirts to match his decor? And did they have to be so bloody tight? He was worse than Inigo.

His jeans were well worn and hugged his thighs just right. Don’t even get me started on the other places they were hugging. I swear every time I was within ten feet of this man I had to resist the urge to fan myself.

I crossed over the Persian rug in the middle of the room that was breathtaking in its beauty. It was all creams and blues with hints of reds and browns, and I had the sudden urge to take off my shoes so I could feel the fibers with my bare toes. Gorgeous, just gorgeous. And probably nearly as old as Jack himself. Not that I knew anything about rugs, but it just looked way too yummy to be cheap polyester.

Add the expensive bookshelves crammed with books and the glossy grand piano in the corner, and it looked more like my rich aunt’s house (if I had a rich aunt) than the lair of a Templar knight. I mentally corrected myself. A
former
Templar knight.

Then I saw the falchion sword hanging over the fireplace. It wasn’t a replica. It was the real deal. Now that had knight written all over it. Wonder how he explained that?

“I tell them it’s a family heirloom.” He’d caught me looking.
Well, if you don’t want people staring at your sword, you shouldn’t hang the thing over your mantle piece
.

“It’s beautiful.” It was. I knew my swords.

His smile was a little grim. “It’s deadly. You wanted to talk to me about something?”

How to broach the subject delicately? “I want to know how you were turned.” When in doubt, go for the jugular. I was never any good at subtlety.

“I was bitten.” Apparently, neither was he. I gave a mental eye roll.

“Yes, I figured that.” My voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. “What I want to know is specifically what happened when you were turned. How exactly did it happen? And why didn’t you turn vampire? Why Sunwalker?”

He sighed in what sounded suspiciously like annoyance. He leaned back, crossed his arms and started rattling it off like he was giving a report. “I don’t know why Sunwalker instead of vampire.” He shrugged. “I was stationed in Jerusalem with my brother knights. We found evidence that there was something of value buried beneath our headquarters on the Temple Mount, so we excavated. And we found … ” he hesitated.

“A cave,” I prompted him, remembering the details from my dream as though I’d been there myself.

He frowned at me. “Yes, a cave.”

“A cave with a smooth stone floor and dirt walls painted with some sort of mural. There was a flat stone, like a seat or an altar, in the middle of the cave and an earthenware jar next to the stone. On the floor were two bodies, one a skeleton and the other perfectly preserved as though he’d only just fallen asleep.” I stopped, my heart thudding in my chest, waiting for his response.

He made none, so I finished telling him what I’d seen. I told him everything, including the deaths of his comrades and his own attack.

He sat there, expressionless. His voice was totally even but I could feel the tension in him from where I sat. “How did you know?” He bit out the words.

I let out a long sigh. “So, it was real. That really happened.”

“Yes. I repeat, how did you know?”

“I saw it. In a dream.” In a way, it was a relief to know what I’d seen was real. In another way, it totally freaked me out. I was dreaming about events and people that had happened hundreds, even thousands, of years ago. This was not normal.

“A dream?” His voice was still completely flat, but the look in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. It was not a very nice look.

I nodded. “I’ve been having dreams, seeing things, visions. I wasn’t sure if I was going crazy, or if it was real. But since the dreams about you are real, maybe the other dreams are real, too.”

“Other dreams?” For the first time, there was an expression on his face. I just wasn’t sure exactly what it meant. It was something between curiosity and expectation. I nodded slowly.

“Tell me.” His voice was flinty, his expression intense. He leaned forward slightly, jaw tight, hands clenched.

I swallowed, suddenly very nervous. In front of me was the warrior who had survived countless centuries. Who had fought in battle with a bloody sword and a heart of stone, the Sunwalker who quite possibly drank the blood of Hunters like me. He was more than a little bit scary.

So, I did what any sane person would do. I slipped one hand under my jacket to grip the hilt of my knife, just in case. Then I told him about my dreams.

Chapter Eleven

Once I finished telling Jack about my dreams, I waited for him to comment. He didn’t. He just sat there, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Mr. Silent and Deadly.

“Uh, earth to Jack. These dreams I’m having about the priest. Are they real, too?” I wrapped my arms around myself trying to ward off the chill I felt deep inside me. “Because if they are, I am so not happy about it.”

His voice was low when he finally spoke. “They are.”

“They are what?” I needed to hear him say it.

“They are real. Your dreams are real.”

Damn. It was like trying to squeeze water out of a stone with him. “And?” I prompted.

He raked his fingers through his hair. Something I wouldn’t mind doing myself. Then he got up off the couch and started pacing. I felt like I was watching a freaking tennis match, what with all the back and forth.

“Come on, Jack. Talk to me. You can’t just tell me my dreams are real and then leave it.” Though I was really enjoying the current view of his backside. Whoa. Down girl.

He finally stopped pacing and faced me, his expression grim. “All I can tell you is that your dreams of me are real. I was that knight in that cave. It’s how I was turned. I know nothing of the priest, so I can’t help you with those. I only assume if the dreams of me are real, the other ones must be, too.”

I was getting irritated. Hopping off the chair, I strode over and got all up in his face.

“Listen, Jack.” I poked him in his chest. His incredibly broad, warm, muscled chest. Gods, I’d have loved to rip his T-shirt off and stroke that chest until …

I shook my head. Focus Morgan. “I’m getting really tired of you not telling me what I need to know.”

His expression didn’t change as he gently removed my finger but didn’t immediately let go of my hand. A little thrill ran through me from the contact. Geez. What was I? Twelve?

“What do you think you need to know?”

The condescension made me want to smack him. Unfortunately, it didn’t make me want to stop doing other, much naughtier things to him. I yanked my hand away from his. “How about the difference between a vampire and a Sunwalker for starters? That might be useful.” Yeah, I was full of snark.

He shrugged his shoulders. “The obvious. I can stand the sunlight, they can’t. I eat solid food, they drink blood.”

“And that’s it?” My voice was full of disbelief.

“I don’t know anything else.” Again with the deadpan expression. Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Fine.” I’d let it pass. For now. “How about telling me more about your turning? Or your life as a Sunwalker?”

For a moment I thought he’d answer me, but then he shook his head. “You need to go, Morgan. I have another student in five minutes.”

If looks could kill, Jackson Keel would have been a dead man.

He shook his head slightly and then before I could blink an eye, he’d swooped down and planted one on me. It was just a little peck of a kiss, but it sent a heat wave billowing through me the likes of which I’d never experienced.

I frowned in confusion as I made my way back to my car. I might have been just a tad bit wobbly.

***

My hands gripped the steering wheel just a little too tightly. This was all a bit surreal for me. The dreams were bad enough on their own. The fact they weren’t dreams at all, but something much more like memories, only made it worse.

“Shit!” I smacked the wheel with my palms causing the old lady in the car next to me to give me a startled look and make a sudden left turn. I almost laughed. Almost.

I had a feeling Jack was hiding something from me, something important. He knew something more than he was telling me, I was sure of it. He just wasn’t admitting it.

I scowled out my windshield. It pissed me off when people hid stuff from me, especially important stuff that might help me do my job. This felt important. I had a strong feeling the priest was the key to everything, I just didn’t know why.

My thoughts turned toward the kiss. It had been practically brotherly. OK, maybe more than brotherly, but it certainly hadn’t been anything to write home about.

My reaction, on the other hand, had been off the charts. It was ridiculous. How long had I been crushing on Inigo? And then this guy I barely knew came along and blew everything to hell.

Shit. Inigo.

I rubbed my forehead. Thinking about it was not improving my mood, so I popped in a CD, cranked the sound system and rolled down the window. Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down” flowed from the speakers like a sign. I liked Tom Petty. Especially for driving. It was driving kind of music. Most people expected me to be into punk or heavy metal or something. I guess it sort of went with the whole vampire hunter persona, not to mention the penchant for leather and steel. But I was kind of old school.

The wind teased at my hair, sending violet red strands dancing around my cheeks. I loved the wind. It reminded me of the night down by the river, how I gathered the night … My brain stopped. I still hadn’t figured out what I’d done that night and I didn’t want to think about it yet. I turned Tom up a little louder to drown out my thoughts.