Of A Darker Nature (22 page)

The back door banged to announce his arrival. Emily fluffed her hair and gave her reflection one last glance. Nervous butterflies fluttered inside her stomach. “Showtime.”

Now, if she could only scare up the nerve to confront Marcus…

Marcus dressed in faded jeans and a t-shirt. His plan was to get out of the house as quickly as possible. He had to get away from the girl. Not only did he lust for her blood, but her body too. Had he not come to his senses last night, he might have taken things too far. He paused in the hallway. Thinking like that could only bring him grief. It would be best to get the job done quickly and get the hell out of there.

He would drop her off at work. Beau could keep an eye on her there while Marcus took care of a few things in town.

Emily passed by the doorway, readying herself for work no doubt.

She’d left her hair down to frame her face and wore a pair of black cropped pants with a fluttery white blouse. The only thing he saw wrong with the outfit was the lime green flip-flops she wore. Didn’t the woman own a single pair of pumps? He'd love to see those long, lithe legs in a pair of fuck-me heels.

On his way in, he’d spied two gallons of paint in the living room. What bothered him most was the faint, familiar scent of two men that lingered near the doorway.

He felt good tonight, not at all like he had these past few days.

Surprisingly, his ego was a bit bruised that Isabella hadn’t demanded his return home yet. Typically she'd be groveling at his feet by now, begging him to come back. It pissed him off that she had told him to stay. His anger had little to do with Isabella and everything to do with Emily. How could he distance himself from the redhead if he had to remain at her side? 

Isabella still didn’t trust Emily and said he should continue to keep an eye on her. It was silly. He was ninety-nine point nine percent sure the girl had no involvement with the witch and her idiots. And he certainly didn't need be here to figure out if Scott ran the disposal business. Wren, on the other hand, had raised red flags, and now he had people following her every move. This stagnant lifestyle he was forced to lead was unfair. He hungered to be part of the action, part of the bigger fight.

He dropped onto the couch and listened to Emily move through the house. She paused in the doorway and the light floral fragrance she wore tickled his senses. Although she said nothing, he could tell she wanted to.

He glanced over his shoulder, one brow raised.

“I need a favor,” she said.

He stood, moving slower than usual. Pain seared his left side.

“Marcus, there’s blood on your shirt.” She lifted the hem of his shirt a few inches to peer at the wounds. She released the material and snapped her gaze up to his. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you without asking. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You wanted something?” He stepped around her and into the hall.

“Oh, right. My car’s dead. Would you give me a ride to work?”

He moved toward the spare bedroom and paused at the door, hiding his smile. “Sure. Let me get another shirt first.

He pulled the t-shirt over his head then surveyed his shoulder in the mirror. He cursed Scott and his mouth full of sharp teeth. The shifter's jaws had gouged deep into the meat of his bicep and shoulder. The wound pulled each time he moved, and he’d had a hell of a time washing the dirt out. He dropped the ruined shirt, kicking it toward the closet.

Emily entered the bedroom behind him, a wash cloth and gauze in her hands. “Did Scott do that?”

Marcus didn’t answer. Instead, he selected another dark shirt from the closet.

Concern clouded her cute, freckled face. “Why hasn’t it healed?”

“There’s a chemical in shifter saliva that slows the healing process. It doesn’t change the genetic makeup, just hurts like hell.”

She stopped him from pulling the shirt on. Her warm hands guided him toward the bed. “Let me help you.”

Marcus sat on the edge of the mattress while Emily fussed over him. She wiped the blood away, being careful not to touch the actual wounds. When she finished, she placed gauze over them. Gentle fingertips smoothed the tape down. Her touch lingered on his skin for just a heartbeat.

“There, that should help until it heals.” Emily gathered the washcloth and gauze. 

“Thank you.” He grasped her wrist, but let go when her eyes widened. Emily nodded then rushed from the room.

He inspected her handiwork in the mirror. She had done an exemplary job.

The crunch of gravel and the sound of a car door banging shut demanded his attention. He snatched the clean shirt off the end of the bed and headed toward the sound of raised voices.

A female's accusatory voice said, “Brenda called a few nights ago.”

“So?” Emily’s retort was defiant. A surge of respect went through him. She wasn’t going to let her sister step all over her.

The woman released a livid groan and strode into the living room. Denise Hahm hung back near the door, clearly uncomfortable with the volatile siblings.

Marcus stood poised in the shadowy hallway, just out of sight. Like Hahm, he was reluctant to wade through the family drama.

Liz grabbed Emily's arm and jerked her around to face her. “She said you had a houseguest.”

“I don’t need your approval. Besides, it’s not like you ever approve of what I do.”

Her sister looked distressed. “She said it's a vampire, Emily. Is that the new thrill? Are you hanging out with
that
crowd now? Did you meet him at that club Brenda works at?”

“We are not having this conversation.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Brenda left? You know I don’t like the idea of you staying out here by yourself.”

“I'm not alone,” Emily said in frustration. “I have a guest, remember?”

“Pack your things. I want you out of here tonight. You’re not safe, especially if you’re keeping company with one of those—those weirdos.”

“You’re not my mother.” Emily’s voice faltered on the last word, but she quickly hid it. “I’m not leaving.”

“I'm worried about you. You can’t stay out here with some guy you don’t even know.”

Emily crossed arms over her chest. “I have to go to work, Liz.”

Marcus rounded the corner, and the sister’s argument ended. He supposed seeing a shirtless guy in your kid sister’s house might be a surprise. Add the assumption that Emily was sleeping with him, and it could be a real shock to the system.

Hahm's face paled with recognition. “You’re—Oh my God. You're the John Doe, aren't you?”

Liz turned and stabbed a finger in Emily’s direction. “You’re sleeping with the dead guy? Jesus, sis, you’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren’t you? You realize he’s just a pretty corpse, right? He’s a dead man!”

“Do I look dead to you?” Marcus stepped closer, his features twisted in a mock smile. He stood extra close to Emily and for once, she didn't seem to mind the invasion of her personal space. Liz’s eyes widened, and she took several anxious steps in reverse. Perhaps she was surprised the dead guy not only looked good, but could talk as well?

“Holy shit.” Hahm stared in awe. “I knew it.”

“You don’t believe in vampires.” Emily ignored Hahm's fascination.

“I didn't, I mean, I don't. But you’ve admitted there is some weird shit going on.” Liz tilted her chin in Marcus's direction. “Denise let me read your statement. She told me all about her theories too. I'm beginning to think maybe there's some truth to it.”

“You think I'm fruit loops, but you'll take her word for it?” There was no mistaking the hurt in Emily’s voice.

Liz glanced at Hahm. “Denise and I have been friends since college. I’ll admit, at first I thought she was full of it, but I came around.”

“It’s nice to know you’ll make the exception—just not for your sister.”

“He was clinically dead according to the guy driving the ambulance.” Liz gestured toward Marcus. “Now he's standing here, healthy as a horse. I don't know how to explain that.”

Emily’s personal life wasn’t any of Marcus's concern, but this was a chance to get on her good side. Slipping the shirt over his head, he pulled it down to cover his nakedness. He threw his arm around Emily’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. For good measure, he brushed a quick kiss atop her head. Caught up in the moment, she must have forgotten her fear of him. Since she wasn’t fighting him, he kissed her on the cheek. “Ready to go?”

She looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “Yeah, my sister and her friend were just leaving.”

Liz scrubbed a hand down her face. “Actually, I came to deliver a message.”

She untucked her shirt and opened the bottom four buttons. She lifted the fabric to reveal purple and blue ribs. “They were nice enough to leave my face untouched.”

Emily sucked in a lungful of air and stiffened. “Holy crap.”

“My legs and arms are covered too. They didn’t break any bones, but they said if I didn’t get you to agree to their terms, next time would be much worse next time.”

Emily’s fingers twisted the tiny heart charm round and round.

Hahm said, “Give me some names. Let me help you.”

Liz buttoned her shirt. “I was too busy getting my butt kicked to get their names and affiliations, but I did notice pentagram tattoos on their hands and wrists.”

Emily gave Marcus a meaningful glance. “One of the guys at the graveyard had a pentacle tattoo on his knuckle. Big black guy, he’s one of Starr’s coven.”

Marcus nodded. “I’ve had the displeasure of meeting him.”

Liz flinched at the witch’s name. “Yeah, they said if you don’t give Starr what she wants she’ll make life a living hell for not just you, but everyone you know.”

Emily followed her sister outside onto the porch. Liz grabbed her arm and leaned close. Marcus assumed she was trying to prevent him from hearing what she had to say. Denise left the porch to wait beside her car.

Marcus ran his fingertips down Emily's back and over the curve of her buttocks. He mostly did it to freak out her sister, but he loved the pink flush that colored Emily's cheeks. Her fingers rose to fondle the necklace, and his groin twitched with the knowledge that he'd aroused her.

Liz didn’t speak until Marcus moved away. “What the hell are you mixed up in, Emily? Why don’t you just give Starr whatever she wants so she’ll leave you alone? And you never did explain what the John Doe is doing here.”

“His name is Marcus.” Emily cast a sneaky glance in his direction. “You won't believe any of this, but the witch wants to use my land for a ritual. He's here to guard me.” She opened her mouth to add something else, but fell silent instead.

“After talking with Denise, I'm a little more open to the unknown.” Her sister glared in Marcus's direction. “If vampires are real, what's so bad about a few less of them?” 

Emily gasped in shock. “Liz!”

“And what the hell are you doing with
that
one? For the love of all that’s holy, tell me you aren’t sleeping with him.”

“That’s none of your business, Elizabeth Cross!” Clasping one of her sister’s hands, she struggled to find a smile. “Just be careful, okay? Marcus and his enforcers will stop Starr. It’s only a matter of time.”

“You’re going to get hurt, Emily. Just give her what she wants and walk away from this. Please?” Liz gave her a quick hug. “You’re making a big mistake getting involved. This isn't even your fight.”

Emily’s shoulders hunched. “I wasn’t given a choice. I'm screwed no matter which side I pick.”

Emily didn’t give her sister the chance to say anything more. She hurried to the Corvette and settled against the leather seat, looking pale and withdrawn.

Hahm gathered her courage and approached Marcus cautiously.

“So it's true? I'd like to ask some questions, learn a little more. Maybe we could help each other?”

The human detective might prove to be beneficial. Especially if he could lead her in the direction he wanted during investigations. One more friend in the police department couldn’t hurt. “Find out everything you can on Starr Carter. Maybe you’ll find something we didn’t. Be careful, she and her lackeys are very dangerous.”

Hahm nodded, a stern look of purpose on her face.

“I'll be in touch, Detective.”

The detective hurried to her own car where Liz was waiting. She looked like she'd just found out Santa Claus was real.  Marcus got into the car and noticed Emily’s worried expression.