Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10) (17 page)

Or something.

She didn’t know what. Didn’t really know why she’d gone there in the first place.

Macey made a sound of disgust that had Chas glancing over at her. He, like everyone else in the group—which was spread out at separate tables in the pub—was poring over ancient books and writings in search of a way to destroy Rekk’s Pyramid.

At least, that was what she was supposed to be doing, instead of tormenting herself with memories of Grady—and the fact that Sabrina Ellison, older woman and adventure photographer,
had been coming down from his bedroom in her dressing robe.

Even now, the thought of that made her well up with nausea, and her very fertile mind delve into imaginings it had no business going into.

Her first reaction, after the stupefaction of discovery and the blind reeling away into pouring rain after a stammered excuse, was that it had been less than two weeks since she’d asked Wayren to use the special gold disk.

Less than two weeks, and he was already fooling around with someone else? An older woman, too, vastly experienced and worldly—and possibly even a very rich one.

But by the time Macey got to the end of the block and was passing Garrick’s Butcher Shop, her tears of frustration were mingled with rain, and she realized how foolish she was being. If Grady had no memory of her, it hadn’t been only two weeks since they’d been together. There hadn’t even
been
a “together” in his mind.

You did the right thing
, she reminded herself as she sloshed through puddles and trudged through mud. Grady deserved his own life.

But you didn’t give him a choice.
Temple’s voice mingled with her own conscience, and Macey glared into the waterlogged day.

It’s done
, she told herself firmly.
It’s over.
I’ll live with my decision.

And so Macey returned to the pub late in the afternoon to find the ominous note from Iscariot that had sent them all into a tumult. Yet, in a very small way, she was grateful for the distraction it provided.

Now, it was hours later and she was considering her options: continuing to search for the solution to destroying Rekk’s Pyramid, going to bed and resting until the next thing happened with Iscariot, or heading back out into the now-pitch-dark city and see what trouble she could stir up. She didn’t want to just
sit here
.

Hmm…maybe she should go back and see what Capone was up to. Terrorize him a little, as he was prone to do to others.

As if reading Macey’s mind, Chas stood abruptly and gave a graceful stretch that had her watching him with appreciation. Well, there was another option.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, his gaze sliding over hers. “My eyes are burning, I’m beat, and it’s—Christ, it’s nearly midnight. Who knows when we’ll hear more from Iscariot.”

“Much as I hate waiting for him to act, I can see no other option at the moment,” Max commented. He was wearing glasses to help him see the small, faded print of the book he was reading, and the dark-rimmed spectacles made him look like anything but a fearsome warrior. “However, I suggest at least one of us remain in the pub at all times in case we receive another message.”

“But don’t you feel like we should be—
doing
something?” Macey said. “Rather than just
waiting
? Who knows what he’s doing right now!”

Max removed his spectacles and looked at her, lifting a brow. “I’m all ears, Macey. What do you suggest?”

She gritted her teeth. He was right, and, dammit, she agreed with him, but she
wanted to be doing something
. Instead of brooding and thinking. It felt as if they were at Iscariot’s mercy.

“If you want to go on patrol, hunt around, see if we find anything, I’ll go with you,” her father added.

Not what she had in mind. Not with him, anyway. “The weather’s so bad out, I suppose everyone’s probably holed up for the night,” she muttered. “Even vampires.”

“Wait…I think I’ve found something.” Temple spoke suddenly and caught their attention. “It says something here about an evil pyramid stone…it goes on with a description—Yes, that sounds like it: onyx stone, shaped like the ancient pyramids, the base is square and the length of a short finger…yes, this must be it. It says here…hmm…let me translate…” Her voice trailed off, and was followed by the scritch-scratch of a pencil on paper and her mutterings.

Macey felt her father’s eyes flicker back to her, but she didn’t look at him. She wasn’t giving him any openings to start up a friendly parental conversation.

“All right,” said Temple after a moment of writing. “Here’s what I have. Apparently, the pyramid can be destroyed—get this—‘with the curved tongue of the ruby-eyed skull.’”

“What the hell does that mean?” Chas said. “Skulls don’t have tongues—or eyes, for that matter. Where is Wayren when you need her?”

Macey couldn’t help it—she looked reflexively toward each of the doors, half expecting the mysterious chatelaine to walk through one of them at any moment. Both doors remained closed.

“That’s all it says,” Temple replied. “And I’m confident the translation is right. I checked it three times. There might be more, but that’s all there is in this section.” She yawned. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Despite the dark situation, her face softened into a cat-with-the-cream expression.

“I’ll stay here—take the first shift,” Max said. “In case something changes.”

For some reason, his easy offer made Macey feel slightly guilty—but she wasn’t going to give in to that base feeling. Then it evaporated as her father went on, “Woodmore, if you’ll relieve me at four.” It wasn’t a request—and he hadn’t included Macey.

“
I’ll
relieve you at four,” she said flatly. “Chas should rest. He’s been badly wounded.”

Max merely shrugged, ignoring Chas’s outraged scoff that he might need to be coddled. “Very well. I’ll be here. Presumably, there will be a place for me to sleep at that time?”

Macey couldn’t help but feel a tad deflated at his easy acquiescence. “Yes. I’ll show you then.”

Thus the group disbanded for the evening, and it was assumed Chas would stay on site instead of going back to his own flat, due to the nature of their predicament.

Macey shot a glance at Max just as she went through the door to the private apartments and saw that he’d settled himself at a table with a short crystal glass, a tall, dark bottle, and a stack of books and papers. He looked…forlorn.

A little shaft of something poked her in the heart as she paused, looking at the dark head bent over his studies, one hand holding a pencil, the drink off to the side. She smothered a startled noise, for in that moment, her father looked just like the man in Sabrina Ellison’s photograph. The tableau—the mood, the pose, the resemblance—was astonishing in its familiarity. It was as if she’d been brought into the photograph in real life. Even the shadows seemed the same.

Obviously sensitive to everything in his environment, Max lifted his head and found Macey watching him. From across the room, she saw a flash of something in his eyes—pain? hope? apprehension?—and forced her lips into a small, polite smile.

“Good night, Max. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Macey…”

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” she said again, then fled, closing the door behind. Her heart was pounding, her palms were damp, her eyes felt gritty—and she didn’t really understand why.

He was just a man, just the man who’d caused her to be born. And had caused her to have this vocation of hers—the one that would keep her forever alone and solitary, and always the target of evil.

Now he was a colleague, a peer—a partner. Albeit an interfering one. Nothing more.

She stubbornly shoved away the flicker of a long-lost memory of sliced apples and star-shaped seeds and laughter and—No, she didn’t need that taking up space in her mind right now.

Macey turned blindly, blinking rapidly, rushing away from it all, and slammed into Chas.

“Whoa there, lulu,” he said, catching her with gentle, firm hands.

She managed to look up at him without showing her confusion and pain—at least, she hoped the emotions were hidden—and completely switched the set of her mind. “I was hoping you wouldn’t go home tonight,” she said, easing closer as she took hold of him.

Strong as steel, smooth and muscular, his arms acted as anchors in the midst of her turmoil. His warmth and the power of his presence steadied her. But she wanted more. She
needed
it.

“I’m glad you decided to stay here tonight,” she said, looking up at him. Her heart was suddenly pounding, and she felt a little queasy with all sorts of nerves and emotions.

Chas’s eyes shuttered and he eased back a bit. “It didn’t make sense to go home.”

She moved in a little closer, her attention wandering over the healing wounds on his neck, the strong beat of pulse thudding there, the darkness of his skin beneath the torn white shirt…then over his stubbled jaw and to his mouth. The beauty of his form and features took her breath away.

“Macey,” he said quietly. She felt a little tremor run through his muscles, a tiny shiver beneath his skin. “I don’t think… Whatever you’re thinking, lulu, it’s not a good idea.” He sounded a little breathless, a little dusky and rough, and as if the words had been wrung from him.

“Why not?” she asked, shoving away a pang of uncertainty. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it the other night in the alley. You practically tore my—”

He swooped down and covered her mouth with his, smothering the rest of her sentence, dragging her up against his steely body. He was warm and hard, smelled spicy and masculine, and tasted salty and hot. He kissed her forcefully, wildly, with deep penetration and long, sweeping strokes…with desperation and desire and something much darker.

It was Macey who pulled away, to catch her breath—or so she told herself—but then it was ruined when she realized tears had filled her eyes.
Dammit.

She ignored whatever emotion was trying to destroy the moment, and slid her arms up around his neck, pulling his face to hers once again, fitting her mouth to his in her own desperate bid for escape.

This time, Chas pulled away after only a short while, and when he did, he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her at a distance.

“You’re trying too hard, lulu,” he said. His voice was matter of fact, but there was heat in his eyes, and she could tell he wasn’t at all adverse to her attentions. But he was holding her back—literally holding her back.

“What do you mean by that?” She was outraged, and now there were tears welling in her eyes again,
damn him
. “It’s always been like that with us—rough, and wild, and—”

He put a finger to her lips, glancing at the door to the pub.

“What, you’re worried about
him
?” That infuriated her even more—now Max Denton was interfering in her
private
life. “I can solve that problem.” She grabbed Chas’s hand and pulled, ready to tow him off down the hall to the privacy of her own room.

“Macey, stop,” he said, and pulled his fingers easily from her grip.

Blind with tears, furious and confused and frustrated, she dashed a hand over her eyes and stalked away before she could embarrass herself further. She’d taken two steps before Chas caught her by the arm, pulling her back relatively gently—for him.

“Leave me alone.” She tried to punch him—oh, that would feel
great
, to land a few solid ones right on his torso—but he was too strong, even for her, and he pulled her tight against him, his arms capturing her in an unyielding band.

“There’s not too many other things I’d rather do than pull off your clothes and make it all the way with you, lulu,” he murmured into the top of her head. “Believe me. Especially after…today. But I’m feeling a bit wrung out myself, you know”—she felt the tremor rush through him—“and being a substitute or an excuse doesn’t sit well with me at the moment. You don’t want
me
so much as you want something to make you forget everything that’s going on—and I can’t argue with that. I’ve done it myself…too often. Far too often. Even…”

“Even with me?” she whispered into his shirt, now damp with her tears.

“Ah, Macey,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “My life is so bloody damn fucked up, you can’t even take offense to me saying it, because nothing I do means anything. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong back—home. I don’t belong anywhere.” He drew in a deep breath. “You don’t love me, I
can’t
love you, we’ve been using each other for weeks…and though it’s been damned
good
—”

“Well, there is
that
.” She laugh-sobbed against him.

He gave a pained chuckle of his own. “Right. Look, I don’t know what happened when you went out today—you came back looking worse than when you left, and that’s not saying much—but one thing I know is, going to bed with me won’t help you feel any better.
Inside
,” he added with another bark of laughter when she tensed up to argue. “Mentally.”

This time, when she drew back, he allowed her to. “It’s been a terrible day,” she admitted, still enjoying the comfort of solid arms around her.

“Even worse than when I dragged you out of Iscariot’s limousine?
That
was a pretty bad day.”

“Almost as bad.” Her lips quivered, but inside she still felt as if she was a piece of clothing being run through the wringer.

“Max showing up here was a surprise.”

“That’s an understatement.” She sniffled, and to her surprise, Chas produced a handkerchief from somewhere on his rumpled person. “How does he have the nerve to show up after thirteen years and pretend like nothing happened?”

“I wouldn’t say he pretended like nothing happened—” Chas stopped when she turned her most furious glower onto him. “Right. The bastard.”

“And then I—” No, she didn’t want to talk about Grady. Didn’t want to admit even to Chas—whose deepest, darkest secrets she knew—how pathetic she’d been, lurking around Grady’s house, and even knocking on the door.

“You went to that Irish bloke, didn’t you?” His mouth was flat with anger. “The one you castrated.”