Hereâs what Romantic Times BOOKreviews has to say about

RHYANNON BYRDâS

bloodrunners series

Last Wolf Standing â4Â½ starsâ¦ Fast paced and exciting, Rhyannon Byrdâs Last Wolf Standing is hard to put down.â

Last Wolf Hunting âTop Pick. 4Â½ stars.â

Last Wolf Watching âTop Pick. 4Â½ starsâ¦ Rhyannon Byrdâs compelling, sexy characters and exciting story make Last Wolf Watching a must read.â

Also available from Rhyannon Byrd

Donât miss the rest of the dark and sensual

PRIMAL INSTINCT trilogy, coming from Mills & BoonÂ® Super Nocturne

Edge of Danger

September 2009

Edge of Desire

October 2009

And available now from Mills & BoonÂ® Intrigue,

the BLOODRUNNERS series

Last Wolf Standing Last Wolf Hunting Last Wolf Watching

Dear Reader,

Iâm so excited to present Edge of Hunger, the first book in my new PRIMAL INSTINCT series with Mills & BoonÂ® Super Nocturne. Set within a world where paranormal creatures live hidden among an unknowing humanity, the opening trilogy of this dark, provocative series tells the story of the Buchanan siblings, beginning with the rugged, deliciously sexy Ian Buchanan.

Ian is the ultimate bad boy, who finds himself fighting a dangerous, uncontrollable temptation when psychic Molly Stratton comes to town, claiming to bear messages from his motherâs ghostâ¦and a warning that his life is about to change forever. Suddenly Ian must embrace his violent, visceral hungers if heâs to protect Molly from an ancient evil that has mysteriously returned to our world, causing the darkness that dwells within him to awaken. A primal darkness that will test the very bounds of Ianâs control, while proving humanityâs only hope for the future.

Iâm thrilled to be sharing Ian and Mollyâs story with you, and hope youâll come to love their wickedly seductive romance as much as I do.

All the best,

Rhyannon

EDGE OF HUNGER

BY

RHYANNON BYRD

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Erotic Romance author Madison Hayes,

who is not only a genius of words, but a treasured friend I simply could not do without.

Thanks for all the endless support, and for always

being there when I need it most!

Youâre the best!

Lots of love.

Rhy

The hunger is comingâ¦

EDGE OF HUNGER

CHAPTER ONE

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meetâ¦ âT.S. Eliot

Henning, Colorado, Friday Afternoon

THE WOMAN WAS TROUBLE.

Ian Buchanan knew it the second he set eyes on her as she climbed out of a banged-up, dust-covered, dark blue rental. Knew it as he set down his hammer, watching her walk toward him, her small frame backlit by the burning orange glow of the sweltering afternoon sun while she carefully made her way through the rugged terrain of the building site.

And the first words out of that soft, pink mouthâher lips glossy and sweet looking, voice mellow with a sexy, husky little rasp to itâconfirmed his suspicions.

âMr. Buchanan, my name is Molly Stratton and Iâm here becauseâ¦well, I know this sounds crazy, but your mother, Elaina, asked me to come and find you.â

She didnât laugh. Didnât smile. She just stared up at him with the biggest pair of brown eyes heâd ever seen. Waiting.

âIs that right?â He ignored her small outstretched hand while he pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, picked up his Coors, and took a long swallow of the beer. The glass rim of the longneck was cool against his sweat-salted lips, the beer even cooler as it went down his dry throat in a long, icy glide. She watched him while he drank, her dark gaze snagging on the column of his throat as it worked. A soft wash of pink warmed the delicate crest of her pale, freckle-dusted cheekbones as she stared, those full lips parted the barest fraction. Something down low in Ianâs belly cramped in reaction. His blood went thick.

Oh, yeah, she was trouble, all right.

Ticked at himself for reacting so easily to her, he set the bottle back down on top of his battered cooler with a distinct thud, noting from the corner of his eye the way she flinched at the harshness of the sound.

She was nervousâand obviously crazy as hell. Either that, or a pathetic little con, looking for an easy score.

âSo tell me, sunshine,â he drawled, injecting just the right amount of ridicule into his deep voice. âYou talk to the dead often, or is today just my lucky day?â

Reaching up to hook her windblown hair behind her left ear, she held his hard gaze without so much as a flicker of those long, thick lashes rimming the deep cinnamon brown of her eyes. âAs a matter of fact, I do. How often depends on themâ¦not me.â

Ian stared at her while those strange words played through his mind. Sheâd stopped just a few feet away from where he stood, her gaze both shy and direct in that way that always captured a manâs attention. The bristling Colorado mountain breeze played havoc with her shoulder-length, honey-blond curls, carrying a scent to his nose lost somewhere between want and needâand something hot caught fire in his blood, like a burning glow heating him from within. Even down deep, in those forgotten places where things always stayed cool and calmâ¦and lifelessâwhere nothing and no one could touch himâhe sensed an uncomfortable spark of awareness.

Dropping his sunglasses back down to shield his eyes, Ian picked up his hammer and went back to work, bracing the wall heâd just raised. He no longer held her gaze, but he still felt her, like a fine tension that vibrated from her body to his own, its rhythm rapid and quivering.

What the hell?

âI know it soundsâ¦impossible,â she added, âbut itâs true.â

Yeah, sure it was.

âDonât they have medication for people like you, Miss Stratton?â he asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm, determined to ignore herâ¦the heatâ¦the irritating beads of sweat snaking down his spine beneath the damp cotton of his T-shirt. Not to mention the unwanted sexual hunger twisting belligerently in his gut. âWhatâd you do, miss a dose?â

âIâm not psychotic or delusional.â She sighed, sounding tired. Weary even. âAnd Iâm not after your money orââ

âGood,â he grunted with a low laugh, his grin crooked as he glanced up at her through the dark shield of his glasses, âbecause I ainât got any. Would you believe I blew every cent I own on the Psychic Friends Network?â

She frowned, but determination etched the delicate angles of her face, giving her the illusion of being tough, when he knew instinctively that she was anything but. Crazy? Obviously. But there was something vulnerable and soft in her that fascinated the hell out of him.

God, he was so fucked.

âLook, I realize this seems like some kind of joke to you, but Iâm not trying to scam you,â she murmured, her left hand fidgeting with the bottom button of her shirt, just above the waistband of her jeans. âI really donât want your money or anything else. The only thing Iâm asking is that you pay attention to what I have to tell you.â

âNow see,â he replied in a slow slide of words worthy of any natural-born Southerner, âthe problem is that Iâm too much of a bastard to pay you even that.â He pointed the hammer in the direction of her car, needing her gone. Now. Before he gave in and forgot why bedding her would be such a bad idea. âSo why donât you just hightail your crazy little ass out of Henning and back to wherever it is you came from.â

A soft sound of irritation rumbled in her chest, making him grin despite himself. It was refreshing to know that little miss innocent looking had a temper, and he found himself wondering what she looked like when that passionate temper was truly riled.

Sweat popped out on his forehead that had nothing to do with the heat rolling up at them in waves from the sweltering groundâand everything to do with the feminine package standing before him. It was his own fault, but heâd been too long without a woman. Now he was in a bad way, and Ian knew he shouldâve ignored his waning interest and dropped by Kendra Wilcoxâs earlier in the week. If heâd gone ahead and gotten laid, then maybe he wouldnât be getting geared up over the strange little female standing in front of him, talking about conversations with his motherâs ghost.

âLook, Mr. Buchanan. If forgetting about this whole thing was an option, then believe me, I would. Unfortunately, it isnât. Iâve no other choice than to follow through with this, whether you act like an arrogant jerk or a gentleman.â

Mumbling around the nail heâd just placed between his lips, Ian arched one brow. âMuch to my motherâs heartache, I never did take to the whole Southern gentleman way of life. It all started the fateful afternoon I put a frog down Sally Simpsonâs pants in kindergarten,â he informed her, setting the nail in place. He flashed her an unrepentant smile, getting a perverse pleasure out of pushing her buttons. âAnd Iâve never changed.â

âAnd you sound remarkably proud of that fact.â Her voice held a hint of challenge that twisted the irritating hunger in his gut a notch tighter, and he nearly smashed his thumb as he swung down on the nail head. âA rebel through and through.â

âWhich really shouldnât come as a surprise,â he rumbled softly. âIf youâre so chatty with my mother, then Iâm sure sheâs already warned you that Iâm a stubborn son of a bitch. Youâre wasting your time here, Molly.â

The use of her first name had her blinking with an odd look of surprise. And damn, but if he didnât feel that strange little jolt between them again, like something electric and tangible skittering on the air. Something too intimate for comfort. He didnât know why heâd used her first name, but he couldnât deny that he liked the way it felt on his lips.

âSheâs told me enough for me to know that youâd be less than cooperative,â she answered after a moment, while the wind picked up, molding the soft cotton of her plain white shirt to a petite pair of high, rounded breasts. âShe also warned me that youâd react this way.â

Ian cut her a sharp look from behind his dark lenses, but bit back an even sharper retort. It was twisted, but the harder she pushed him, the more he wanted her.

âSo, we can either go ahead and have this conversation here,â she pressed on with firm conviction, taking advantage of his silence, âor I can follow you around night and day until you give in and listen to what I have to say. Your mother isnât going to leave me alone until you do.â

Bent over, his weight resting on one arm while he held the hammer in the other hand, Ian studied her. Studied her in the way a fighter sizes up his next opponent. She sounded so confident, but her body language told a different story. The little details he picked up on, like the way she kept licking at her lower lip, her left hand now clenching and unclenching at her side while her right held on to the leather strap of her purse as if it was a lifeline, told a story of their own. White knuckles. Rigid spine. In the base of her pale throat, her pulse fluttered with a telltale sign of nerves. Or was it fear? Arousal?

Whatever it was, Ian suddenly found himself captivated by the intimate sight of the pulsing vein beneath that smooth, flawless skin. It looked too delicate, too fragile, like something he could so easily sink his teeth into and mark. Taste. Something that was too much like the dreams heâd been having, and it scared the shit out of him.

âEven if what youâre saying is true, which I donât believe for one second, what could my mother want with me?â he asked in a low, rough blast of words that felt ripped out of his chest, all traces of sarcasm and humor gone. âWe didnât talk for the last sixteen years of her life and sheâs been gone for five months. Seems a little late to start mending fences now.â

âElaina regrets that all those years were wasted,â she said with such an earnest expression, he honestly believed that she was buying her own bullshit. God, she really was a whack job. âStill, she contacted me because there are things she wants you to know. Important things she wishes she had explained while she still had the time. But firstâ¦â She paused, and the look in those big brown eyes made him want to reach out to her andâhell, Ian didnât have a clue what he would have done. He was saved from finding out when she cleared her throat, wet her bottom lip with a nervous flick of her tongue, then quietly said, âIâm sorry to have to tell you that someone close to you is in danger.â

Aw, shit. What kind of sick game was this woman playing? Whatever it was, his patience was at an end.

âIn case youâve missed the clues, Miss Stratton, Iâm going to spell it out for you all nice and slow like. I do not think this kind of crap is funny.â Each word came from his lips with biting precision, his voice low, hard, expression even harder as he pulled off his glasses and glared at her through narrowed eyes. âNever have, even when my mother was parading her psycho friends in and out of our lives and putting my little brother and sister through an emotional wringer. Iâm warning you now, get back in your dingy little rental and just get the hell away from me.â

She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could shield herself from the blast of his anger, but she didnât budge. âTrust me, Mr. Buchanan. Ian. Iâm not enjoying this any more than you are, but I made a promise to your mother and Iâm keeping it. I know she made mistakes, but sheâs trying to set things right. And if you donât listen to herâto meâto usâ¦then someone is going to end up hurt. I can feel it.â

Why in Godâs name do I always have to go for the psychotic ones? he silently cursed, running one hand through his hair so hard that his scalp stung. Must be in my goddamn genes.

That was one of the reasons heâd kept things going with Kendraâthe simple fact that she was so different from the women he usually hooked up with. The hard-nosed CPA didnât take to bullshit any more than Ian did, and they both got what they wanted from each other, even if their encounters left him with that gnawing edge in his gut. Left him cold inside. Left himâ¦ wanting.

It sucked, sureâbut heâd learned to live with it.

âLike I said before, my mother died five months ago. Now get off my property. This is private land and youâre trespassing.â

He watched her mouth firm. Then those delicate, narrow shoulders pulled back, determination showing in every rigid line of her soft, womanly body. âNo.â

Ian laid down his hammer and rose to his full height, expecting her to turn and hightail it away. At six-four, he was tall and broad, with enough muscles to make most people back down when he wanted them to. Wearing his meanest scowl, he held her stare, the look in his eyes purposefully hostile and fury-darkened. When he finally spoke, his words came in a low, silken rasp that he expected to buy results. Immediate ones.

âWhat do you mean, no?â

WHAT DID SHE MEAN? She had no idea.

You are insane, Molly. Freaking certifiable.

How did you explain death and ghosts and pure, bone-chilling evil?

How did you explain the existence of hell on earthâ¦or the fact that monsters really did hide in the shadows?

That something was watching you over your shoulder?

That we, humanity, were no longer alone?

How did you explain to someone that their entire world was about to change, never to be the same again?

Molly didnât knowâdidnât have the answers. She was only the bearer of bad news, not its source, and she thought of the old saying: Donât shoot the messenger.

Somehow, she didnât think Ian Buchanan was going to be so understanding. Her mind felt dazed, and she knew why. It was pathetic, but the manâs physical presence had short-circuited her mental faculties. He wasâ¦she faltered for a word that would do all that beautiful, hard-edged male power and arrogance justice, but failed. Elaina had warned her that heâd be distrustful, but she hadnât mentioned how bitter heâd become. Or how gorgeous. Despite his crass rudeness, the man was a walking, talking poster boy for every womanâs hidden bad-boy fantasy.

Beautiful and dark and delicious, he was everything Molly had always thought a man should be, but had never encountered. Hard, rugged lines. Ink-black hair, thick and healthy and windblown. And those eyes, the deep fathomless color of a clear blue sea. They were so much more than attractive. They held a fire. A dark, dangerous intensity that made her insides tremble. Made her breath catch. Made the air around her feel alive, as if it were crackling with electricity.

Not good, Molly. Stay focused.

âI canât give you any proof, Ian,â she said, and there was no missing the hard edge of desperation in her words. âBut if you donât listen to me, if you wonât work with me, someone is going to die. Someone you care about.â

âI donât know what youâre trying to pull, but it isnât going to work, because anyone who knows me can tell you that I donât give a shit about anybody but myself.â

âI donât believe you,â she argued. âNot after the things that Elaina has told me about you.â

He smiled coldly, clearly disbelieving every word sheâd said. âYou wanna lead some guy on a wild-goose chase, try some other sucker, but leave me out of it. In fact, why donât you give the local sheriff a call? I can guarantee heâll get a kick outta you, sweetheart. Youâre just Saint Rileyâs type. Heâll be more than happy to help you try and save the world.â

âDammit, this isnâtââ

Sheâd reached out to grab his arm as he moved past her, recognizing it as a mistake the second he looked down, the deep, raging blue of his gaze driving straight into her, all hostile and violent and strangely arousing.

The words tumbled past her lips without any direction from her brain. âShe said that when the darkness callsââ

He tensed so quickly that her voice faltered, and she knew sheâd struck a nerve. There was no give in the burning, powerful muscles beneath her handâthe bulging bicep rigid with furyâ¦and something that she couldnât put a name to. Taking a deep breath, Molly repeated the words Elaina had told her to say. âWhen the darkness calls, your mother said that youâll know. That youâll findââ

âNo.â His lips barely moved as he ground out the word. âNo fucking way.â

Trying not to get lost in those feverishly blue eyes, Molly stared up at him, imploring him to believe her. âShe wants me to explain, Ian. Explain the things that she should have told you before. Warnings that she should have given you before you left home. Please, just listen to me!â

âYou can find your own way back down the mountain,â he growled, yanking his arm from her hold with ridiculous ease. âJust stay the hell away from me.â

A moment later, he was slamming the door to his truck while he cranked the engine, leaving her standing in the cloud of dust kicked up by his tires.

When he cast one last look in his rearview mirror, she was still standing in the same spot, aloneâ¦watching him run from something that Molly knew he had no chance of evading.

It was one of the elemental truths of the universe. Night would always follow day. Summer would always follow spring. Death would always follow life. And try as you might, you could never outrun something that was already a part of you. Sheâd learned that lesson the hard wayâand still carried the guilt to prove it.

Whether he believed her or notâ¦listened to her or notâ¦gave in or forever told her to go to hell, Molly knew one thing with absolute, undying certainty:

Ian Buchananâs past had finally caught up with him.

CHAPTER TWO

The Midnight Hour

KENDRA WILCOXâS MOTHER had always warned her about picking up strange men. Especially beautiful ones. Ones who were too good to be true. But the stranger sheâd met back at the bar was her best chance at getting over Ian Buchanan once and for all. No way in hell was she going to turn him down.

Sheâd waited for hours, but Ian hadnât shown for their weekly Friday night bump and grind. Now she was pissed enough to do something reckless. Not that she cared about Ian Buchanan, she silently vowed, knowing very well it was a lie. Damn pain in the ass had wormed his way under her defenses, and she knew she was going to end up hurt. Hell, she was hurting already.

She needed this. Needed tonight. Needed to bang him out of her system, which was why she was now speeding down the road with the windows down, the midnight wind whipping through her hairâ¦in another manâs ride.

Mr. Tall Blond and Deadly Handsome was going to be the perfect medicine for what ailed her. And if Ian found out about it later, all the better. His outrageous ego could use a good dent or two.

Kendra turned her head and smiled at the stranger beside her, remembering how heâd asked her, back at the bar, if she liked to be taken in the moonlight, under the skies, where she could scream as loud as she liked when she cameâand heâd promised sheâd come, harder and heavier than she ever had before. Thinking it would serve Ian right if she found someone new to scratch her sexual itches, she only hoped he proved to be as good as he claimed.

They pulled into a grassy meadow a few miles outside of town, and he came around to her door, taking her hand to lead her out into the verdant open field. She felt wild and reckless, like the night, the shots of tequila sheâd downed with him before leaving the bar making her head feel fuzzy. Her mouth was dry.

The tall, blond Adonis smiled down at her, his ice-blue eyes shining bright and deliciously wicked in the silvery rays of moonlight bathing their bodies. Her head filled with the fertile scents of the forest, the damp ground beneath her feet, and his masculine warmth. He was so hot, he felt as if he had a fever, the skin of his palms burning as he curved them over her shoulders.

âDo you like it hard, Kendra?â

âOh, yeah,â she slurred, pushing out her chest so that he could see her braless nipples pressed clearly against the thin cotton of her tank top. âThe harder, the better.â

A low laugh rumbled up from his chest. He grabbed the thin cotton, ripping her shirt in half, making her gasp, then bent forward and captured one naked nipple in the dark, electric heat of his mouth. Between her legs, she grew warm and wet and swollen. Oh, yeah, this beauty was going to be sweet payback against Buchanan. She hoped he told everyone in Henning about tonight. Hoped Ian would hear all about how wildly sheâd ridden this gorgeous stranger beneath the hazy light of the moon.

His teeth grazed her flesh, making her shiver and she started to call out his nameâ¦only to draw a blank.

Holy shit! She couldnât remember it! The thought struck Kendra as hilariously funny and she gave an uncharacteristic giggle, making him grin against the underside of her breast. Ohâ¦wouldnât her mother love to know that a man she couldnât even name was pressing his mouth against her naked skin, kissing his way up to the hollow of her throat.

âTell me how bad you want it,â he whispered, nipping at her shoulder in a way that had her blood surging.

She grabbed at his denim-covered cock, and he laughed softly under his breath.

âBeg me, honey. I love to hear a woman begging for it.â His breath washed over her throat as he rasped the words against her sensitive flesh, his hands sliding across her ass, fingers kneading her through the denim of her jeans. âBeg me to make you scream.â

âPlease,â she gasped, tilting her head to give him better access, ignoring the sudden warning note in her head that signaled something wasnâtâ¦quite right.

Just go with it, Kendra. He can make you forget. Forgetâ¦everything. Forgetâ¦Ian.

Almost as if the stranger had read her mind, he pressed his forehead to hers, whispering, âDonât worry, Kendra. After Iâm done with you tonight, there wonât be anything left for Buchanan.â

She pulled back to look up at him, and her breath caught. Something about his face seemedâ¦she didnât know. Different somehow. She blinked her heavy lids, trying to bring him back into focus through her blurry vision, but her eyes refused to cooperate. Then one hand lifted, cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking gentlyâ¦so gently against the corner of her mouth. In the moment, she forgot everything but his touch. It was reverent. Like a loverâsâand she realized that in all the time sheâd known him, Ian had never touched her like this. Like she was special to him. Her lower lip trembled. She sighed, floating, somehow lost in the searing heat of this strangerâs gaze.

Then he smiled.

The curve of his lips was so beautiful, it took her tequila-soaked mind a moment to realize what heâd just said.

Buchanan! What theâ¦? How did this manâthis newcomer to the mountainsâknow about her and Ian?

âHowââ

âShhâ¦â he whispered, pressing his hand over her mouth. âNo more time for questions.â

He gave a low, rough laugh, and Kendra watched in shock as his face seemed to rearrange itself within his skin. She heard something pop, then crack, followed by the chilling sound of bone snapping into place.

Panicking, she turned to run but stumbled. He had her down before sheâd gone more than a few yards, his muscled weight crushing her into the damp ground.

âThatâs my girl,â he murmured, flipping her to her back and pinning her arms above her head with an effortless strength that awed as much as it terrified. She watched through wide, burning eyes as his intent spread across the distorted features of his face like a stain, and a choked sound broke from her throat. A dry cry lost somewhere between a sob and a whimper. âNo more time to play, Kendra,â he whispered. âOnly time enough to die.â

And he wasnât lying.

Everything that happened after that came to her in nothing but broken fragmentsâconsciousness shattered by terror and disbelief and indescribable pain. She wanted to cry, but her mind was too numb. She wanted to fight back, but her body lay there upon the blood-soaked ground, too broken and weak.

She wanted to tear the son of a bitch to pieces, the same way he was tearing her apartâbut in that, she failed, as well.

Heâd cut her; deep slices in her stomachâ¦her chest? She couldnât tell; she hurt everywhere. Even deep inside, where heâd ripped her open with the vicious pounding of his body into hers. Everything fadedâthe sapphire stars in the sky, the chirping of the grasshoppers, the rich pine scent of the towering treesâuntil there was nothing. Nothing but the great rolling waves of pain that made everything black and ugly and raw.

She thought of Ian, and realized how stupid sheâd been.

But her last thought, as his teeth sank into her throat, was that mother had been right after all.

And wasnât life such a bitch of a waste.

Then Kendra Wilcox thought no more.

CHAPTER THREE

Saturday Morning, 3 a.m.

IAN WAS DREAMING OF HOME. Dreaming of the Deep South in the late fall, when he was young. It was the same strange dream heâd been having since heâd run away at sixteen. He sat huddled around a crackling fireplace with his small family. Dinner simmered on the stove, filling the weathered house with the rich scent of beans and corn bread, while young Riley sprawled on the threadbare rug and little Saige cuddled on his motherâs lap, begging for another story about their ancestors.

âMany years ago,â his mother murmured, âbefore this country was even discovered, our ancestors walked the earth, but they werenât like usââ

âThey were Merricks, werenât they?â Saige interrupted, all but bouncing with excitement.

âYes, sweetheart,â his mother answered with a smile, âthey most certainly were.â

âAnd they kicked butt, didnât they?â his brother added, grinning a little.

His mother winked at Riley. âThat they did.â

âUntil the Casus massacred them,â Ian inserted drily, sitting on the floor by the fire. He wrapped his thin arms around his scuffed knees; his lip curled in a snide expression his mother had always said was too scornful to belong to a twelve-year-old.

âThatâs not true!â Saige protested, sticking her tongue out at him.

âOh, yeah? Why do you think theyâre all dead?â

âBut theyâre not all dead,â his mother said softly, and all three heads turned sharply toward her, big eyes curious and uncertain. This was a strange twist, for the stories had never taken this direction before. Not once, in all the countless tellings.

âWhat do you mean theyâre not dead?â he asked quietly, though his words sounded belligerent and hard against the heavy silence of the house. He fought the urge to flinch as a log cracked sharply in the fireplace, the wet wood popping, then splitting.

Their motherâs slim brows arched high on the worry-wrinkled span of her brow. âDid I ever say they were dead?â

âIf theyâre not deadââ his eyes narrowed in suspicion ââthen where are they?â

âRight under your nose,â she explained with a small smile that made him feel a little sick inside. She held his stare, the corners of her mouth curving just the tiniest bitâa strange glow warming the deep, dark blue of her eyes. âAnd one day, when the darkness calls to you,â she whispered, her voice so low he could barely hear the words, âwhen you can feel it in your bones, feel it roaring through your veins, in the beat of your heartâwhen your dreams are no longer your own, Ianâyouâre going to meet him.â

Trapped within the oppressive layers of sleep, Ian stared at his smiling mother until his vision became cloudy, the silhouette of her body hazy against the thickening darkness. He knew what would happen nextâbut he couldnât stop the recurring dream from bleeding into a nightmare. His throat hurt as the beginning vibrations of a feral growl shivered in his chest, his body aching as every muscle went rigid with a painful, gripping tension.

He tossed beneath his sweat-soaked covers, struggling to throw off the thick curtain of sleep, but he couldnât shake it, as if the dream had lain itself out over his body in a wash of warm, wet cement, binding him in place as it hardened. His teeth gnashed, grinding and angry, but the dream kept going, like a film clip set on continuous replay.

The dream was changingâ¦sucking him deeperâ¦ pulling him into darker, treacherous waters, where danger lurked in the thick, murky depths beneath his feet. Gone was his childhood home, his mother, his freckle-faced sister, Saige, and scrawny, pain-in-the-ass little brother, Riley. Now the ripe scent of the forest filled his head, humid night crowding around him like a falling sky, smothering and dark and too close for comfort. The heavy weight of midnight black surrounded him while the tension in his gut wound tighter, knotting and coilingâ¦and then he saw it. The small, flickering glow of a campfire in the distance, its shivering light just visible through the stygian darkness. The wind surged, bringing with it the rich, provocative scent of sex, while a deep, rhythmic pulse of music suddenly began to fill the unnatural quiet of the woods.

He stood silent and still, aware of the slow, heavy thudding of his heart, of the intense surge of blood swirling through his rigid body. His hands flexed at his sides, the tips of his fingers burning with sharp, piercing sensations, while the thick wave of hunger rolling through him settled heavily in his cock. He breathed in, and broke open in some weird metaphysical way, aware of something unfurling from deep within him, stretching to existence within his fevered skin. Something that felt at home there in the clinging web of darkness. His senses sharpened, acute and predatory, while his body swelled, growing stronger, the muscles buried beneath his burning skin bulging with a primitive, animal craving that demanded freedom.

That wanted to answer the provocative call of the darkness.

Suddenly he was aware of the warm wind against his now-naked flesh. Of the damp air in his lungs, the fertile ground beneath his feet, too many smells assailing him with a chaotic swarm of information. The details consumed him, crowding his mind, battling for supremacy, until one need conquered, dominating all others.

The urge to hunt.

Lifting his nose to the wind, he searched for the thing he craved, just so that he could chase it and take it down. His nostrils flared and he sniffed, sorting through the sensitive data intake rushing into his head, and then he found it.

Yes, the creature within him hissed with thick satisfaction. Right there.

The change was almost complete. Some inherent part of him struggled against it, but the hunger was too strong. He exploded into action and felt himself running, charging, lungs heaving, thighs and calves working with preternatural force as he raced through the thick tangle of foliage and trees, their leaves and branches whipping against his face and arms and legs, leaving bloody scratches on his skinâ¦and he knew what would happen next.

Heâd been having this nightmare for weeks now. And each time it ripped something inside of him open a little more. Cut him just that little bit deeper.

No! Ian roared from the darkest depths of his unconscious psyche, while the dream kept going, each moment pissing him off more than the last. Goddamn it! No! Wake up, you idiot! Wake up!

But he couldnât shake it. No, something dark and hungry in his gut wanted this too muchâneeded itâand an ugly, twisted feeling cut through him. Shame. Bitter and foul and consuming. But the craving was too huge to ignoreâto overcome.

He needed what was out there.

Ian thrashed in the tangle of his damp sheets, drenched and aching as he struggled to throw off the infuriating bonds of the nightmare. But its claws were sunk too deeply into his flesh, trapping him in place. It was the same as it had been in all the other dreams. He saw himself breaking through the edge of the forest, rushing into the middle of a gypsy campfire. He saw the rapid, sensual swirl of the dancers as they spun around the rioting flames, the rich colors of their skirts flapping rapidly in the breeze, long hair flowing behind them in a wild explosion of curls. Along the shadowy edges of the campsite, couples writhed in ecstasy, the ripe, musky scent of sex filling the air while the pulsing music grew louder. Around the fire, the dancers moved with increasing urgency, clapping and stamping their feet, singing and laughing in their decadent revelry.

And a low, eerie chant began to hum beneath the music. Something thick and husky that sounded like Merrickâ¦Merrickâ¦Merrick.

They knew he was there. Dark sloe eyes caressed him, ruby-red lips curling in feline smiles of invitation he couldnât deny. He reached for the one who first dared to dance too close to him, taking her down to the ground right there, aware of the sizzling, searing looks as the others watched.

Clothes were shredded in seconds. Then he took her the same way he did in each dream, spreading her long legs, thrusting into the slippery entrance nestled there within her crimson folds, the ebony curls above glistening with her juices, and he hammered her into the hard, damp floor of the forest.

Ian fisted his hands in his sheets until the fabric ripped, his body taut upon the mattress, his weight resting solely on his head and heelsâand in the dream, his hands clawed at the rich soil, eyes narrowed and hot as he ground himself into the panting, dark-eyed girl. He slammed into her harder, with a viciousness that shocked him, but he couldnât get deep enough, as if he were trying to reach something that she couldnât give him. The need raged through him, savage growls crawling from his throat, like something wild and predaceous, but she wasnât afraid of him. Sharp nails clawed his flesh, her voluptuous body arching and writhing beneath him, low, moaning pleas for more flowing from her lips while the others cheered them on. The music grew louderâ¦swelling with each pulsing beat, until his head roared with it.

He thrust himself into her giving flesh, searchingâ¦ aware of the pain his size brought her, but he couldnât find what he needed. He snarled, throwing back his head, an animal roar ripping from his chest, the desperate sound slicing through the music and raucous laughter. His eyes screwed tight, the tendons in his neck bulging while his temples throbbed. His heart thundered, threatening to explodeâ¦building and building and building. And then he felt it.

Somethingâ¦different. Something that had never happened before within the terrifying landscape of his nightmares.

It was the small, shy touch of a hand against his chest, pressed right over the painful thudding of his heart. Ian froze on a hard downstroke, sublimely aware of the delicious change in the body beneath his own, his rigid cock buried thick and deep within an impossibly snug, cushiony feminine channel that gripped him so tight it actually hurt.

He swallowed, his eyes burning from the sting of sweat as he lowered his head and stared down at the woman now lying beneath him. The gypsy was gone, and in her place was a shy, petite honey-blond gazing up at him with big brown eyes.

Oh, hell. It was her. Molly. Something in Ianâs chest snapped, making him jerk on top of her. He didnât dare breathe or blink or speak, terrified of breaking the spell and losing her. He couldnât let that happen. No, suddenly the most important thing in his world was holding on to the dream with everything that he had.

Holding on to the woman.

With the sound of his blood roaring in his ears, Ian shifted, grinding against her, making sure she had every inch of him buried inside of her, the base of his shaft rubbing against the pulsing heat of her clit. Her eyes went wide, full of shock and surprise and the hazy kind of pain that could only be seen in a womanâs gaze when she was being thoroughly taken. A strange, voluptuous kind of pain sharpened by the biting edge of pleasure. Her lips parted, and he read the word that slipped silently from her mouth.

âIan.â

She knew. Knew who he was. Knew he was the one penetrating her, staking her to the ground.

He wanted to smile at her, wanted to run his dirt-covered hands over her face, along the trembling pulse at the base of her throat and tell her it was okay, that he wouldnât harm her, but he couldnât say the words. His blood was raging, his body hot, streaming with sweat, and he knew his eyes looked wild. Savage. The intensity riding him was too violent to disguiseâtoo ripped open and raw, stripping away whatever thin veneer of civilization he normally managed to pull around himself.

She stared up at him, panting and soft and rosy, pale skin gleaming and flushed. He knew, without any doubt, that she was as innocent as she looked. Not virgin, butâ¦close. Whatever experience sheâd had with men was limited, brief, fleeting.

That was about to change.

Watching her closely, he pulled back, then sank back in. He could have come just from thrusting into herâ but no way in hell was he going to let it happen. He had to savor itâ¦savor her. Make it last and wring from her everything she could give. Had to demand it, make her crazy. He wanted her screaming and clawing and crying with pleasure by the time he was finished with her. Wanted to break her apart, scattering the pieces until she had to have him put her back together again.

Shifting to his knees, Ian pushed up on his hands, muscles bulging and hard in his arms, and stared down at the tender place where his body joined hers.

âWatch me,â he growled.

She shivered and lowered her gaze, her shock at seeing his possession unmistakable in the thick look of lust that clouded her warm brown eyes. It rushed through him, the destructive power of that look, trashing his control, tearing some kind of violent, primitive sound from his throat. She was tight and he was big, too big to just slide in, no matter how slick she was. He had to put his strength behind it and drive at her, slamming her into the ground, the keening sound of her pleasure making him see red.

With a hoarse groan, Ian lowered himself over her, needing the tight tips of her velvety nipples against his skin, needing to cover her, to own herâ¦and he suddenly realized that they were alone in the forest. The music was gone, the gypsies, the wild celebrationâthe churning noise replaced by her husky cries and the wet, slapping sounds of his body thrusting into hers. He drove her across the ground with his hips, taking and claiming and letting loose every hard, tight emotion that heâd always kept locked up, hidden awayâand then she undid him.

He watched, dazed, as the damp, silken beauty of her mouth curled, lips lifting to form an incandescent smile that lit her up, made her glow, and something powerful and terrifying ripped through him. His control snapped, and he went over the edge, digging one hand around her thigh, lifting her leg up high as he shoved deepâ¦then deeper still, his other hand fisting in her hair, pulling her head to the side. She sobbed, a sound more pleasure and anticipation than pain, and he lost it. His gums burned as he felt the terrifying length of his fangs slip free.

She cried out, stiffening beneath him, but he couldnât stop. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathed a damp patch of lust against her throat, and greedily sank his teeth into her. Molly screamed, jerking beneath him, and he bit deeper, the ecstasy and bliss instantaneous, hot and thick and sinful.

The warm, rich spill of her blood filled his mouth in a smooth rush, flowing down his throat, and he swallowed hungrily, growling as he pulled against the wound in her neck, dizzy with pleasure at the lusty taste of her. More. He needed more. Working his jaws, he pulled tighter against her, feeding from the small punctures, every inch of his body aware of her flying apart around him in a shattering climax that squeezed his shaft like a clenching, silken fist.

With a snarling cry, he ripped his fangs from her, drugged by her taste, by the evocative sight of her crimson blood dripping down the pale skin of her throat. She gasped breathlessly as he leaned down, dragging his tongue over her flesh, taking the meandering trails of blood for his own, trapping them in his mouth. He lifted his head, staring into her dazed eyes, and for the first time in his life he was completely focused on every mind-shattering detail of the woman beneath him. The rapid quivering of her heart against his. The panting of her sweet breath and the delicate shiver of her hands across his back. She was too small for him. But it was too good, the feeling one he wanted over and over and over.

He was painfully aware that nothing had ever felt so perfectâ¦so right. That no one had ever felt like this. Like his.

Ian shuddered from the dangerous, unsettling thought, already closing himself off even as she blinked up at him, dewy cheeks flushed and so beautiful that it took his breath away. He watched in horror as those bee-stung lips curled up the slightest fraction, her eyes shining as she gifted him with another sweet, shy smileâeven after heâd fed from her like a bloody monsterâand fear, sick and meaty and rank, sliced through him.

Danger! Red alert! Get the hell out of here, you dumb-ass son of a bitch!

Her mouth opened, small hands clutching at him, and he thought he heard her scream his name in panic as she lost her holdâbut in the next instant, he jerked awake, his body drenched in sweat, heart hammering like a staccato drum in his chest, painful and piercingly sharp.

Rolling to his side on the damp sheets of his wrecked bed, he felt his lips pull back over his teeth as he fought to get control of his ragged breathing, to find a slower intake of air that didnât make his lungs burn, his vision swim. Squinting through his narrowed eyes, he focused on the digital glow of the clock sitting on his dresser, the blinking of the numbers making him think of a bomb slowly ticking its way to detonation.

When the darkness calls, Ianâ¦

Like hell! He had enough to deal with right now! He didnât need his motherâs words whispering through his brain. Not when he was on the edge and a breath away from losing what little control he could claw on to.

He drew in a deep, desperate breath through his nose, eager for the scent of something clean and fresh, something that could pull him out of the ugliness in his head. But the smell of the room reminded him too much of the acrid taste of fear. And there was no denying that he was afraidâthat terror beat through his body like a deafening, rolling wave of thunder.

Visions of blood and lust, of violent sex and ungodly, animalistic hunger, still burned through his mind, but he fought against the waves of memory, focusing on regaining control, slowing his heartâ¦his breathing. Struggling to keep from coming all over his sheets like some green-eared teenage boy in the throes of a wet dream.

Goddamn it! It was her! Sheâd planted this in his head with her little mind games today. And he refused to think about how heâd felt with herâin her. No way. That was emotional no-manâs-land.

Seconds ticked by that flowed slowly into minutes, while he lay there, struggling for control of his bodyâfighting the urge to replay the dream in his head, knowing it would destroy him. Send him out on a shaky, treacherous ledge that only she could rescue him from. He sucked in air through his gritted teeth, heavy and hard, welcoming the dull throb beginning to pound through his head, until he suddenly became aware of someone knocking on his door. Loud and rattling, it shook the thin wood within its weathered frame like a lone reed caught in a gale-force wind.

Rolling onto his back, Ian took quick stock of his condition. He was drenched in sweat, his body hot, muscles aching, and a wry look downward showed he was in some deep shit, and it was getting deeper by the minute.

The knocking rattled his door again, sharp and insistent. He threw his legs over the side of his bed, running one shaky hand through his damp hair, trying to throw off the jittery feeling the dream had left in his gut. It was probably Riley, asking for help. Again. Why his brother thought he would want to run off and play Galahad with him, he had no idea. Probably Rileyâs attempt to keep an eye on him, making sure he still walked the straight and narrow.

Huh. As if he wanted to go back to the way heâd been before coming to the mountains. Thanks, but no thanks. He was done with living on the edge. Done watching his back 24-7. The constant strain of fighting his way through each day had worn him down and he had no desire to ever return.

Grabbing his jeans from the floor, Ian navigated through the dark rooms of his apartment, hoping it wasnât his brotherâ¦or Kendra. Heâd left her a message earlier, just wanting to check on her, after the whacked-out stuff Molly Stratton had said that afternoon.

âJesus, give me a goddamn minute!â he called out when the knocking grew louder, impatient and strong. Hitching his jeans up over his hips, he closed a few but tons as he reached for the door, pulling it open.

And there she was. Little Miss Molly.

Holy shit. What had been a serious hard-on turned into a burning lead pipe in his jeans, curving high to his left, so that the partly closed denim only just managed to keep him from flashing her his goods.

She still wore her jeans, but the white shirt had been replaced with a soft sage-colored T-shirt. Her braless nipples pressed against the thin cotton, thick and tempting, like hard little berries that he wanted to roll around on his tongue. Ian stared, unable to believe his eyes, wondering for a moment if he was still somehow trapped within the dream.

The silence stretched out, punctuated only by their soughing breaths, until he finally took a step forward. His brain justified moving closer to her as an intimidation tactic, but his cock knew better. He just wanted to be near her. Wanted to watch the soft flush bloom across her fair complexion. Wanted that warm honey scent of her skin in his head. She blinked up at him, pulling that full lower lip through her small white teeth, and his patience snapped. âHow the hell did you find me?â

âI asked around.â He struggled to focus on her words and not the husky sound of her voice that seemed to roll down his spine, or the sleep-rumpled look on her freshly washed faceâbut it was impossible. âA teenager down at the gas station told me you were staying here while you finish your house.â

He ripped his gaze away from the curve of her mouth to glare into those big brown eyes, hazy and soft beneath the glowing moonlight. âParker needs to learn to keep his mouth shut,â he muttered in a quiet rasp.

Her mouth twisted. âI think he thought I was in trouble, so please donât be angry with him.â

His eyes narrowed. âWhy?â

She blinked, startled by his tone. âWhat?â

âWhy did he think you were in trouble?â

âOh.â Her gaze slid away from his, focusing on his chest, which was bare. He watched, seeing the moment when she realized where she was staringâ¦and the heat crept back up across that flawless skin. But she didnât look away, and the heat spread into her eyes, the smoldering burn there slamming down into his already aching erection, making him wince. He wanted to rearrange himself, but didnât want to draw that luminous gaze any lower. Thatâd be too much.

âMolly!â he snapped, the harshness of his tone making her jump. He snagged that startled gaze as it flew up and growled, âWhy did Parker think you were in trouble?â

âOh, sorry,â she mumbled. This time she didnât look away from his face, keeping her eyes above his broad shoulders, and he almost grinned. âI wasâ¦um, upset, when I talked to him a little while ago. But Iâm okay now.â

âUpset how?â he demanded, grabbing her chin. He tilted her face into the soft stream of light barely reaching them from the streetlight down on the corner, and could see the sticky trail of tears that had dried on her skin. âYou were crying,â he said in an odd monotone. âDid someone hurt you?â

âNo,â she whispered, shaking her head, the soft, silken ends of her hair brushing against his wrist. âI was justâ¦emotional. But Iâm not hurt.â

He curved his hand around the back of her skull, and made a fist in her hair, pulling her head back so that he could stare down into those deep brown eyes. Her hair was soft, so damn soft. He just wanted to rub his face in it. Feel it on his skin, on his body. Wanted it wrapped around his fist as he made her do things good girls like her never did; which was why he always steered clear of them. Heâd realized long ago that he couldnât do the pretty when it came to sex. His urges ran too dark, too raw, too primitive for the likes of soft women. Hell, just look at the sick stuff heâd been fantasizing about in his sleep!

She claimed she wasnât hurt, but he refused to think about how heâd beenâ¦hurting her in his dream. Fucking her to within an inch of her life on the hard forest floor, sinking his goddamn teeth into the fragile column of her throat.

Drinking her blood.

Hunger clawed at his insides with vicious insistence while he slowly looked her over, feature by feature, and he knew the time for retreat when it came. âIf nothingâs wrong, then why the hell are you here?â he grated.

She trembled, and he didnât know if it was from his look or the harsh sound of his voice. âIâm sorry for barging in on you, but I wanted toâ¦to check on you. I wasâ¦worried.â

Sheâd been worried about him? Something scary and soft shivered through his insides at her strange words, and he let go of her, refusing to acknowledge the pleasure he got out of just touching her, feeling her warm curls sift through his fingers as he pulled away. âWhy would you be worried about me?â

She rolled her lips inward, brown gaze zinging from his face, to the hard bulge of his biceps, and back to his chest again, the smooth curve of her cheeks turning red. Her arms wrapped around her middle, as though she was holding herself together. âBecause I felt it.â

Leaning against the doorjamb, Ian crossed his own arms and glared at her. âFelt what?â

Her lids lowered, shielding her gaze from him. âYour dream,â she said thickly.

Something inside his gut clenched so hard, he felt the tremor slam through his body like a physical blow. âWhat the hell are you talking about?â

Her gaze flicked up to his. âYouâ¦you did something to me.â

Shock gripped him and he uncrossed his arms, his hands fisting at his sides. For a long, tense moment, he stared her down. The energy in him was pumping, making him feel wired, on edge, crawling up his spine, curling around the backs of his ears. He tried to keep it together, but hell, he was creeping himself out. No wonder she was looking at him as if he was some sort of monster from the deep, dark lagoon.

Hell, for all he knew, he was.

Ian worked his jaw, aware that he had to scrape the words out of his throat. âWhat did you say?â

âYou did something to me. Inâ¦the dream.â She wet her lips, her blush visible even in the hazy moonlight coming from above, shining around the pale wash of her hair like a halo, making her glow. She lookedâ¦soft, like something warm and sweet that you just wanted to wrap yourself around; that you wanted to feel melt over you like a warm summer rain. A sweet piece of candy that you left on your tongue to savor, to enjoy as its flavor trickled down your throat. All sunshine and smiles. Things he didnât wantâthings he sure as hell didnât deserve.

She looked ethereal, surrealâ¦something too good for him to touch, even if she was out of her goddamn mind.

Yeah, and youâre so together, Buchanan. A rock. Just a grounded kind of guy.

He ignored the sarcastic asshole living in his head, and tried to get his mind around what she was saying. Another scam? That had to be it. She was messing with his mind, though God only knew why. What could she want from him? He had nothing to give. Nothing but a screwed-up past and a questionable future. If it was a con, he couldnât imagine what she hoped to get from it.

As if reading his thoughts, she whispered, âIâm not making this up. And this time, I can prove it to you, Ian.â

He knew he was trying to intimidate her, knew it made him an ass, but he did it anyway. âAnd what was I doing in your dream, baby? Did I have you tied to my bed, making you beg for it?â He gave a gruff laugh, lifting his brows. âCome on, Molly. Tell me. If anything else, this should prove to be some pretty entertaining bullshit.â

Her mouth trembled, cheeks fiery and warm, eyes glassy and wild with a sheen of moisture, but he knew she wasnât going to cry. No, she wasâ¦turned on, he thought with a sharp, cracking jolt of realization that slammed through him. His words had aroused her as much as they had him.

He watched her head shake from side to side, heard a low, trembling ânoâ whisper past her pink mouth. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, and it hit him that she looked like a woman whoâd just rolled out of bed with a lover. Something aggressive and violent twisted in his stomach. Had she gone out and found some jerk-off to nail tonight, while heâd been alone in his bed, dreaming about her?

âIt didnât happen like that.â Her words came in a rush, and she slumped against the door frame, her body melting against the weathered wood as if she needed it to keep her upright. But her eyes changed, filling with an inner strength that aroused him even more than her shivering innocence, if that was possible.

He wanted to demand who sheâd been with but heard himself say, âYeah? Then just what did I do to you in this dream, Miss Stratton?â He wanted to shake her up, throw her off balance, the same way sheâd done to him. âThereâs no way in hell Iâd get you beneath me and not fuck you. Not-a-chance-in-hell,â he ground out.

âYou did,â she breathed softly, the wild look taking her eyes again. âYouâ¦we had sex,â she said in a whispery little rush. âButâ¦â

âYeah? Spit it out, honey.â He grinned and gave her a crude look, letting his inner asshole free. âIâm dying of curiosity here.â

She trembled, hugging herself tighter, her mouth quivering, eyes bright and wide as she stared up at him. She blinked. Then swallowed. âYou bit me, Ian.â

He froze, locked into place, while the floor fell out from beneath him. âWhat did you just say?â

She swallowed again, trembling like a leaf, lifting one hand to press her fingers against the left side of her neck, beneath the fall of her hair. âYou bit meâ¦and I canâ¦I can still feel the marks.â

Ian watched, trapped within a thick, oppressive daze, as she slowly pulled her hand away, turning her fingers for him to see. And there, glistening on Molly Strattonâs pale little fingertips was a dark, crimson smear of blood.

CHAPTER FOUR

MOLLYâS HEART POUNDED to a painful beat as she watched Ian come closer, the movement of his body predatory and primal, like an animalâs. He moved in a way that was too natural for a human male, too elemental, all that power and shocking intensity pulsing from him in slow, heated waves that made her want to shiver and melt all at once. She saw his muscles shift beneath the burnished silk of his skin, almost too gracefully for such a big man, as if strength came to him too easily, without effort and dangerously smooth. It reminded her of the way heâd moved over her in the dream.

He reached toward her with one large hand, the callused tips of his fingers scraping her skin, and moved the fall of her hair back from the side of her throat. The second he found the bite marks heâd made, his eyes flared into a hot, wicked blue, then narrowed, staringâ¦unblinking. His breath surged between his slightly parted lips with a rough, uneven cadence.

She wet her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, a wave of chill bumps spreading over the sensitized surface of her body, while inside, chaos reigned. Her heart fluttered wildly like a trapped bird that might burst from her chest with her next breath, the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears like the midnight break of surf against craggy, weatherworn cliffs. The subconscious landscape of her emotions was a dark, gothic setting, complete with smoke-gray skies and thunderous cracks of lightning rumbling like ominous bellows in the distance.

All you need is Shelleyâs Frankenstein lurking in the shadows to make you feel right at home.

She shook off the whimsical thought, wishing heâd just say something.

âUnbelievable,â he finally breathed out in a low, stifled rasp. Molly watched the word as it formed on his lips, mesmerized by the shape of his mouth, the texture and hue, something inside of her coming a little undone by the salty, sweet scent of his breath. It sat on her palate like the promise of something forbidden and sweet, like a sin. Pure, perfect temptation. His fingers slid farther beneath her hair, curving around the back of her head, and she stole another quick look up at his eyes to find him watching her, his stare as hot as it was intensely blue.

Oh, God, she silently moaned, while her voice remained frozen, locked inside the prison of her throat.

His gaze moved over her face as if she was something heâd never seen before. Like Adam discovering Eve, he stared at her as though she were some foreign creature. A revelation. A curse. Something he should fear. Something that could destroy him.

âWhat do you want from me?â he ground out through teeth that were clenched in confusion and some indefinable emotion, his fingers tightening the slightest fraction in her hair. âHow the fuck did this happen?â

âIâ¦I donât know.â Scraping the confession out of a dry throat, Molly became aware of tiny pinpricks of sensation swirling through her system. She could feel its rush through her blood, behind her eyes, pulsing like tender heat in her lobes, against the backs of her knees. Desire, unfathomable and unwanted, and completely inexplicable, considering the circumstances. But there all the same. She couldnât deny, or ignore, its existence, no matter how badly she wanted to. She felt betrayed by the sheer depth of her reaction, as if lust had mounted a revolt against her common sense.

The sultry summer breeze blew harder, and his scent surrounded her, engulfed her, making her dizzyâ¦ making her want. His hand shifted again, slipping lower, curving around the back of her neck, and his skin was too hot, burning her flesh. So alive and warm and impossibly male. She blinked, and suddenly his body was even closer. So close now that his forehead nearly touched hers, their breath soughing together in a hectic, frenzied rush. âNo more games. I want an answer, and I want it now. How did this happen?â

âIâ¦I have no idea.â She could tell from his grim expression that he didnât believe her, and the words rushed up from inside of her like a gasping, swelling burst of frustration and fear. âI swear, Ian. I have no idea how it happened. Thatâs why I came here. I was worried. I needed to see that you were okay.â

âTo see that Iâm okay?â he growled, lashes so long and thick they cast shadows against his skin. âChrist, woman. Iâm not the one who almost had their fucking throat ripped out.â

A police car came roaring around the corner in the next instant, siren blaring as it sped past the weathered apartment building and into the night. They both jumped, flinching from the jarring screech of the sirenâs wail.

Pulling away from her, Ian pushed one rugged hand back through his damp hair, the muscles in his arm and chest coiling and flexing with the action, drawing her eye. âI need a cigarette,â he muttered, turning and disappearing into the darkness behind him. He didnât slam the door in her face, so Molly assumed she wasnât being told to leave. He moved deeper into the shadows of the apartment and she followed, pulling the door shut behind her.

Without the light from the street, darkness blanketed the room. The loss of sight made her other senses sharper, the panting sound of her breath filling her ears, the surface of her body so sensitive, it was as if she could feel the shadows against her skin. They slipped over her flesh like tiny, featherlight touches of a fingertip, stroking her cheekbones, her chin, the line of her throat.

Just stay calm. Donât freak. And for Godâs sake, donât start crying again. Heâll think youâre out of your mind. Not that he doesnât think that already.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, Molly squinted against the darkness, unsure of where to walk, until a low glow of light spilled into the murky gloom from a doorway on the far side of the room. Following the light, she found him facing her, one powerful shoulder braced against the far wall beside a window in the small kitchen, head lowered as he lifted his arms to light the cigarette perched between his lips. Heâd switched on a small light that shone over the sink, the muted glow too weak to reach the shadowed corners, casting him in a hazy glow of gold.

Slanting a curious look in her direction, he spoke in a graveled, hesitant rumble. âWhy did you scream my name at the end? Did I hurt you?â

She moved cautiously into the kitchen and collapsed into one of the pine chairs beside a small table, wishing sheâd pulled on something heavier. The chill of the air conditioner seeped through her thin shirt, freezing her to the bone, while Ian stood there half-dressed, his body vital and big, covered with a light sheen of sweat, as if impervious to the cold. âNo.â

âThen why the scream?â he demanded, taking a long draw off the gleaming cigarette, the details of the room lost beneath the force of his presence. She had the feeling she could have been surrounded by ravenous predators and still have remained oblivious to the danger, her entire focus centered on the hard, beautiful bulk of Ian Buchanan.

âAnswer me.â The harshness of his gritty tone made her flinch. The soft glow of light glinted off the broad width of his shoulders, his skin gleaming like bunched satin, and yet, he was completely untouchable. Like a wild, caged animal. Beautiful, but deadly.

Molly looked away and drew an unsteady breath. âI didnât wantâ¦â

âWhat?â he snapped, the word lashing with whipcord strength.

A self-conscious shrug rolled across her shoulders, her eyes still focused on a distant patch of his kitchen floor. âI didnât want you toâ¦leave me there alone.â The confession slipped from her lips without any direction from her brain, startling and unintended. She wanted to snatch back the telling, vulnerable words, but it was too late. He was already absorbing them, working them over in his mind, that dark blue gaze zeroed in on her with ruthless, uncompromising intensity when she sneaked a quick peek at him from beneath her lashes.

âTell me what you remember.â

She flushed, keenly aware of the heat suddenly rising up beneath her skin, burning in her cheeks. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, every part of her oversensitized, as if she were experiencing everything too keenly. The coolness of the air. The stuttering speed of her pulse. The press of that beautiful blue gaze, the mesmerizing color probably the envy of every woman heâd ever known.

âMolly!â he snapped again.

The words jerked from her lips in rapid succession, beyond her control. âWe were in a forest. It was night. You wereâ¦different.â

A rough, humorless laugh rumbled up from his throat, and he took another deep pull on the cigarette, his silence making her ramble with the need to fill the uncomfortable space. âWe had sex, but youâ¦you didnâtâ¦â

Her voice faltered, and in a graveled tone, he said, âCome?â

âYes.â She shivered, her body clenching with remembered sensation. It had been unlike anything sheâd ever known, being under him, consumed by him.

âBelieve me,â he grimaced, the barest hint of a wry edge to his words, âI know.â

Her gaze flickered briefly to the immodest bulge in his jeans, and she wanted to ask whyâwhy he hadnât allowed himself release when inside of herâbut couldnât, suddenly afraid of what he might say. Heâd seemed to enjoy what had happened between them, but she knew men were fickle creatures, not to be trusted with emotional issues. His words, if delivered cruelly, could cut her to the quick, and she was already feeling too raw, the defenses sheâd spent so many years building suddenly seeming frail and unstable. She didnât know him well enough to trust him. Hell, she didnât know him at all.

And yet, for some inexplicable reason, she felt perfectly safe, alone there with him in the middle of the night, with nothing but the quiet stillness for company. Those storm-dark eyes moved over her face, lingering over her individual features. Then he lowered his head, reaching out toward the ashtray perched on the edge of the kitchen counter. She knew if she hadnât been watching him so closely, she would have missed it, that bleak shadow of fear that crept over the rugged angles of his profile. He slanted a sharp look in her direction when her breath sucked in on a gasp, and for a single instant, she could have sworn she heard his raspy voice in her head. Heard the unspoken question he was too afraid to ask.

âNo,â she whispered, her body trembling with a low vibration.

He ground out the cigarette in the stainless steel ashtray and turned toward her, feet braced apart in an aggressive stance, powerful arms crossed over his broad chest. âNo what?â

She rolled her lips together. âYouâre not evil.â

He grunted in response, distracted, and began pacing the width of the room. She watched his bare feet against the faded linoleum, long and dark, but as perfectly proportioned as the rest of him. Her gaze traveled up the length of his body, over the hardness of his thighs, the corrugated stretch of his abdomen, and he raised his arms, shoving his fingers back through the rumpled mass of his hair. She could do nothing but stare at the bulging power of his biceps with wide-eyed fascination. He was so perfectly sculpted, it was as if a master artisan had cut him from marble like David, and the gods had breathed life into him.

But he was no angel.

And yetâ¦he wasnât a devil, either.

âI mean it, Ian. Youâre not evil, no matter howâ¦ physical your dreams might be.â

âYeah, and how can you be so sure? You donât know me. Donât know what Iâm capable of. Donât know what I dream about doing to the women in my bed.â He stopped pacing, turning his head to look at her, eyes sharp and dark, so blue they looked black. âOr maybe you do.â

She struggled to ignore the surge of lust that poured through her, thick and warm in her veins, but it wasnât easy. Not with him prowling around, wearing nothing more than those barely buttoned faded Leviâs. She could see the dark silky trail of hair slipping down into the shadowed V of his open fly, and a wave of hunger rolled through her so sharp and sweet and strong that she went light-headed, forced to lean her upper body against the table for support.

The corner of his mouth twitchedâsuch a slight fraction of movement, she knew she would have missed it if she hadnât been staring so intently.

Crap. He knew.

This was bad. She was already in over her head, and getting deeper with every moment she spent up on this damn mountain. But she owed it to Elaina. Dammit, she owed it to herself. She wasnât going to screw up. Not this time around. She had a chance for redemption, to make a difference, and she was going to grab hold of it, even if it killed her.

Which seems a likely possibility, her conscience muttered.

He moved toward her, stalking closer until he stood in front of her knees, his feet braced outside of her own, staring down at her. Leaning forward, he braced his right hand on the table at her side, caging her in. âI can still taste your blood in my mouth,â he rasped, his gaze flicking over her face, lingering on the swell of her lower lip. âThis kind of shit isnât normal.â

âNot for most people, no. But youâre not like others, Ian. Thatâs what Iâve been trying to tell you. Itâs why I used up my entire savings to buy a plane ticket and come here.â

âIâm a contractor, for Godâs sake. Not a fucking vampire.â Impatience cut itself into his features, the shadow of bristle on his cheeks accentuating the hollows of his expression.

She shook her head, craning her neck as she stared up at him. âI never said you were a vampire.â

âThen why did Iâ¦â He jerked his chin toward her throat.

âI only know what Iâve been told. According to Elainaââ

âChrist,â he grunted, lifting away from her. âI donât want to hear any more bullshit about what my dead mother has told you.â

Breathlessly, she said, âIâm telling you the truth. I swear it.â

âYeah, then explainââ

âI donâtââ

ââhow Iâm able to wake up in my bed with the taste of your goddamn blood in my mouth!â he roared.

âBut Iââ

âAnd this time, donât lie about it! I want to know how it happened, Molly!â

She slammed her left hand down on the table, tired of him yelling at herâ¦of not knowing how to make him listen. âI donât know how it happened! I swear. Iâve never dreamed about you before. Iâve never had anything like this happen to me beforeâsharing a dream with someone that is somehow, in some way, actually happening. All I know is what Elaina has told me, and Iâve been trying to tell you, but you wonât listen! She led me to you, told me where to find you. Wanted me to warn you that youâre in dangerâthat youâre being hunted.â

âItâs the nightmares,â he growled, his gorgeous, arrogant face set in a hard, obstinate expression that made her want to scream with frustration. âYouâve done something to me.â

âNo, thatâs not true. Think, Ian. Youâve been having nightmares for weeks now, and we only just met. I swear, I have nothing to do with them. The darknessâ¦ this all has to do with whatâs hiding within you. You know that. I know you do. Elainaâs been telling you stories about the Merrick since you were a little boy.â

He stumbled back another step, eyes bleeding to black, and shoved his hands into his hair. Locking his fingers behind his head, he glared up at the ceiling with his jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. Molly stared at the dark tufts of hair under his arms, the stark lines of his throat, wanting so badly to reach out and touch him. To place her hand over the center of his chest and feel his heart pounding against her palm, vital and urgent and strong.

âIan, I know you donât want to believe me, but after whatâs happened, how can you still think Iâm here to con you? This thing is real. I have the bite marks on my neck to prove it. We need to help each other figure it out, because I can guarantee you this is more than I signed up for. Elaina told me how to find you, wanted me to talk to you. To tell you things that sheâs afraid no one else will. But she didnât say a damn thing aboutâ¦about whatever the hell it was that happened tonight. She told me this thing inside of you needs to feed for power, but she didnât sayâ¦â

Her voice trailed off, and he lowered his gaze back to her, muttering, âThat it would feed off you? That it would take your blood?â

âYes.â She swallowed nervously, folding her arms across her chest, resisting the urge to lift her fingertips and touch the tingling warmth of the bite on her throat, the tender flesh slowly throbbing with residual pulses of pleasure.

His eyes narrowed, studying her with fierce intensity, and then he rasped, âSon of a bitch. You actually liked it, didnât you?â

âWhat?â She blinked, floundering for the right thing to say.

âFace it, Molly. Any other woman would have run screaming in the other direction by now. Would have hauled her ass out of Henning the second she woke up and found her throat bleeding. But look at you, coming here, wanting to talk. To help me. What is it with you?â He stalked toward her again, his body closing off any escape route. âYou got a death wish? Or do you just get off on the hard stuff?â

Towering over her, his callused hand slipped under the fall of her hair again, his rough fingertip smoothing over one of the two puncture wounds, and she gasped at the insane rush of sensation that curled through her center, settling heavily between her thighs. Her sex heatedâ¦swelled, feeling heavy and empty all at once, and his nostrils flared, those dark eyes cutting to her own confused stare, and she knew he could smell the need. That dark, uncontrollable ache twisting deep inside, clawing at her, making her crave. Making her need things that she didnât even understand. That she feared.

âWhatâs your answer, Molly?â

Shakily, she said, âBe crude if it helps you deal. I have a thick enough skin by now to take it. You may piss me off, but itâs not going to scare me away. Iâm not going to run.â

âAnd youâre not going to give me any answers, either, are you?â

Her eyes slid closed, tears threatening to spill from the excess emotion crashing through her system. âI wish I could explain how the dream happened, Ian. But I canât.â

He sighed, the heat of his body covering her like a glittering ray of sunshine. âOkay, Iâll bite,â he drawled in a deep, graveled voice, and she could feel the press of his eyes on her face, watching her. âItâs not like your story wonât be entertaining as hell. So letâs hear it. What can you tell me?â

With a deep breath, Molly lifted her lashes. âI can tell you about Elaina. I can tell you what sheâs told me.â

âIn your dreams, right?â he murmured, his gaze settling heavily on her mouth, making her lips tingle.

âThatâs how she talks to me, yes. Donât ask me why, because I donât know. Itâs just the way that itâs been since I was a teenager.â

He latched on to that like a pit bull with a bone, suddenly holding her stare. âWhat happened when you were a teenager?â

Flustered, she tore her gaze away from his and focused it on the table. In the center sat one of those store-bought scented candles that freshened the air, its name no doubt flowery and feminine. And that easily, something inside of her softened, shifted into a calmer focus, her body relaxing in the chair, tension releasing like the gentle escape of air from a balloon. She silently laughed at her screwed-up logic, ridiculously reassured, comforted even, by a freaking candle, as if it made him seem less dangerous. God, maybe she was crazy. The fact that he owned a scented candle didnât make him any less of a threat to her stability. Didnât make him domesticated or tame. He probably just didnât like his kitchen smelling like cigarette smoke.

Pressing one hand to her stomach, holding in the wild spiral of emotions, she said, âWhat happened to me isnât important. Itâs whatâs happening to you that we need to focus on. Thereâs somethingâ¦inside of you, Ian. Something that you need to learn to control. Something that will cause you to be hunted. Thatâs going to put the people you care about in danger.â

âI told you before, thereâs no one I care about.â

âI donât believe that,â she argued. âI bet thereâs someone that youâre worried about tonight. Elaina told me there is. And sheâs in danger from thisâ¦this evil thatâs going to try and hurt you both.â

He moved closer, hands braced on the back of the chair, his warm, earthy scent surrounding her, the heavy look in his eyes as sexual as it was angry. âAnd what makes you think I care about her, or even like her?â A hard, gritty laugh slid past his lips, low and sexy as hell. âTrust me, little Molly-Do-Right, people like Kendra and me donât need to like the people we have sex with.â

âThen why?â

His head tilted to the side. âWhy what?â

âIf you disliked her so much, why sleep with her?â

For a moment she didnât think he was going to answer as he pushed away from her again, as if she were something not to be trusted that could turn on him at any moment. He grabbed the black T-shirt hanging over the back of a nearby chair, then pulled it over his head, turned and stalked to the cupboard to the right of the sink. Pulling down a short, thick glass and a half-empty bottle of scotch, he splashed the liquor into the bottom of the glass. âYou wanna know why I slept with her? Because I liked her body. Liked the fact that she didnât ask for more than I was willing to give. Liked that she kept it light. I donât have to like or care about the women I take to bed,â he told her without turning around, voice a gritty rasp of sound. âIn fact, I rarely do.â

She swallowed the thick feeling in her throat. âI see.â

His eyebrows lifted as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. âDo you?â

Molly nodded. âEmotional safety. You donât get too close. I wonder if Kendra felt the same way, or if she hoped youâd fall in love with her.â

Tossing back the dark amber liquor, he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist. âWhy the hell are we talking about her like sheâs dead?â

His question startled her, and with it came a nauseating sense of certainty. Molly didnât know why sheâd started referring to the woman in the past tenseâbut she feared the heavy knowledge settling like a sickening bulk of reality in her gut. Her brow broke out with a clammy sheen of sweat and she pressed one hand over her heart, its rhythm rapid and light against her palm. âI warned you something would happen, Ian. I have a horrible feeling that it already has.â

He didnât say anything. Just settled his lower back against the counter and stared, probably thinking she was the biggest freak alive.

âWhy do you think Elaina picked you?â he rumbled, his deep voice low and rough.

âWhat?â she asked, caught offguard by the change in topic.

He stared, hard, as if trying to figure out a problem. âWhy you?â

âOh, I donât really know. I donât know why any of the voices I hear come to me. Maybe Iâm able to draw them in some way. Maybe she couldnât find anyone else who would do something this crazy.â Her words came faster, cut with frustration. âRight now, we have something much more important to talk about. Were you even listening to what I said?â

âYeah,â he said, his voice raspy. He took another drink. âI was listening.â

âThen will you try calling her?â Panic was crawling its way up her spine, making her dizzyâ¦nauseous. God, sheâd been sitting here arguing with him, and a woman was dead. Murdered. She didnât know how she knew, but she was certain of it. Just as she was certain it had something to do with the man standing before her, glaring at her as though she was something he wanted to scrape off the bottom of his shoe and be done with.

When he didnât immediately respondâjust kept staringâshe added, âPlease, Ian.â

Sighing, he slammed his glass down on the counter, went to the phone hanging on the wall beside the softly humming refrigerator and quickly punched in a number. He held the receiver to his ear for a moment, then set it back into the cradle. âShe isnât home,â he muttered, glaring at her. âWhich means she probably hit her favorite haunt tonight and made a new friend.â

âOr maybe something terrible has happened,â she argued, lifting her chin.

A rude sound of impatience rumbled in the back of his throat. âChrist, you just donât let up, do you?â

âI donât have time to sit around and beat you over the head with this. I need you to listen to me, to believe what Iâm telling you and help me make things right, and then I need to get back home.â Where she might have to beg for her job back, if theyâd decided to fire her for leaving so suddenly, and hope that the voices in her head would finally stay quiet, leaving her in peace. Giving her a goddamn break for once in her life.

âWhereâs home?â she heard him ask through the pity party she was throwing in her mind.

âNot important,â she snapped, frustrated with herself and the whole horrible situation. âWill you come with me to check on Kendra?â

He slowly shook his head from side to side. âYouâve got to be kidding.â

âIâm not.â

âThereâs no way in hell Iâm going to go skulking about in the dark because you think the bogeymanâs out there. Get real.â

âFine. If thatâs the way you want it, then Iâll go alone.â

She stood, walking toward the living room, and he grabbed her arm, his long fingers biting into her flesh as he gripped her in a tight hold and spun her back around. âAre you crazy?â

âYou donât believe me. Think Iâm out of my mind. So fine. Whatâs it to you if I go wandering about in the dark?â

âYouâre not going anywhere,â he growled, anger roughening the edges of his speech, âexcept back to wherever you came from.â

âWrong. Iâm doing whatever I damn well please. Whatever it takes to get your mother out of my head so she can move on to wherever sheâs meant to go!â

âChrist,â he grunted under his breath, releasing her arm. He rubbed his palm against the scratchy edge of his jaw, then quietly said, âThe sheriffâs going to laugh his ass off when he finds out I let myself get dragged out into the night by a little pain in the ass like you.â

âDonât worry,â she whispered, struggling to hold back her relief that heâd caved. She wasnât exactly thrilled to be spending more time with him, when he insisted on being such a jerk, but she couldnât deny that sheâd rather deal with his crass rudeness than handle things alone. Especially when she still didnât have a clear understanding of exactly what she was up against. âIf Iâm wrong and sheâs okay, then you can laugh in my face and tell me to get lost. The sheriff will never have to know.â

IAN SHOOK HIS HEAD at her softly spoken words. The woman was unbelievably naive if she thought they could go wandering about town and keep it from Riley.

Not likely.

He was aware of her slim figure following behind him as he walked into the dark living room, the press of her eyes on his back as she watched him through the long shadows. Grabbing his cell phone off the coffee table, he turned back to her, saying, âHeâll know.â He grimaced with a wry twist of his lips. âTrust me. Heâs like Santa Claus. He always knows.â

Her brows pulled together in a quizzical frown. âAre you friends with the sheriff?â

âYou could say that,â he muttered, pulling on his shoes before scanning the room for the keys to his truck. âIâm surprised Elaina hasnât mentioned it.â

âItâs not like we have chats,â she said with a sigh. âBasically she just nags me about coming to find you and delivering the warning I gave you this afternoon.â

âHuh. That sounds like her. God knows that woman loved to nag,â he grunted as the phone heâd stuck in his pocket began to buzz. Flipping it open, Ian couldnât believe the name glowing on the screen. âSpeak of the devil.â

âWho is it?â

A low laugh rumbled in his throat as he held up the phone, waggling it in the air. âThe sheriff.â

âThatâs not funny,â she murmured, frowning.

He snorted, another wry smile kicking up the corner of his mouth. âTell me about it.â Hitting the call button, he put the phone to his ear. âYeah?â

âGet dressed,â Rileyâs deep voice grunted over the line. âI need you to meet me.â

His smile faded, replaced by a rising wave of apprehension. âWhatâs going on?â

âItâs Kendra.â

Ian screwed his eyes closed, a sharp, guttural curse jerking up from his chest. No. Hell no. This so wasnât happening.

âWhere are you?â He couldnât bring himself to ask why his brother was calling.

Riley shouted for someone to hold on, before saying, âOut on Marsden Road.â

âIâm on my way.â

There was a heavy pause, and then Riley said, âArenât you going to ask what happened to her?â When he didnât respond, Riley growled, âSheâs been killed, Ian. Murdered.â

He swallowed, unable to scrape up so much as a grunt. âIâll be there in fifteen,â he finally managed to choke out, before disconnecting the call. Fury crawled its way through his system, sickening and thick, consuming his body heat along its way, until he was standing there, shivering, his skin cold and clammy. Not wanting to look at Molly, he scanned the room, finally eyeing the flash of his keys on the TV stand by the window.

âThe sheriffâs your brother, isnât he?â she asked softly. âRiley?â

He tried to nod, but the movement came out too jerky, like a spasm. âYeah. Like I said, Iâm surprised Elaina left that little bit of information out.â

âShe told me that you had a brother and sister, but thatâs all.â She took a deep breath, then quietly said, âSomethingâs happened, hasnât it?â

Ian turned to look at her over his shoulder, wondering what the hell she was, what the hell was happening. âKendraâs dead.â

She flinched, shaking, the color draining out of her face as if she were bleeding out, leaving her pale and ghostly, like the damn voices she apparently heard in her screwed-up little head.

âI have to get out there. Rileyâs waiting for me.â His gut felt as if itâd been stripped with acid, and he struggled to keep down the scotch. âWhere are you staying?â he asked, heading for the door.

âOut at the Pine Motel.â She moved through the front door as he jerked it open, standing beside him as he quickly locked it.

âThe Pine Motel? Christ,â he muttered, âThat place is a dive.â

âThanks for that remarkable observation,â she said thickly, and he could hear the threat of tears in her voice as she followed him down the rickety stairs. He headed toward his truck, her dark blue rental parked beside it, the moonlight no kinder to it than the sun had been.

Giving her his meanest glare, hoping itâd make her listen, he said, âGet back there, then lock the windows and door and donât answer it for anyone. You understand?â

She lifted her chin, opening her car door and sliding behind the wheel. It struck him that she looked too small within the run-down rental, too fragile and easily breakable. âDonât worry. I know how to take care of myself.â

Ian could tell that the low sound of doubt he made in response grated on her nerves more than any snide comment he could have delivered.

âWhen will I see you again?â she burst out, when he started to turn away.

He shook his head, jamming his hands into his front pockets before he did something stupid, like try to touch her. âYou wonât.â

âIanââ

âI want you to stay away from me,â he growled, cutting her off. âTomorrow, when dawn hits, you get your ass in your car and go back to wherever it is you came from. You hear me?â

âThereâs nothing wrong with my hearing.â

âNo,â he rasped, âjust your sanity.â

âIâm not crazy. I wish I was. And Iâm also not running. Not until weâve set things right.â

âGet out of town, Miss Stratton.â He punctuated the order with a hard look of warning, then slammed her car door. Ian waited until sheâd started the engine and driven out onto the street, her taillights disappearing down the road, before turning around and climbing into his truck.

He sat for a moment, staring at nothing, lost in thought, wondering if heâd ever see her crazy little ass again, hoping that she was smart enough to do what heâd told her before things got any more screwed-up than they already were. She could end up hurt. Hell, if she was right, if something was gunning for him with murder on its mind, she could even end up dead.

With a low growl of frustration, he jammed the key into the ignition, hit the gas and headed into the night.

CHAPTER FIVE

Saturday Afternoon

WHAT HAD BEEN a shitty night turned into a grinding, bitch of a day, every lead they followed slamming into a frustrating wall of nothing. By the time Ian finally made it back to his apartment, it was late the following afternoon. While the forensics team had dealt with the gruesome crime scene, heâd spent the hellish hours helping Riley retrace Kendraâs steps, talking to everyone they could find, while getting the third degree about her personal life. It was almost embarrassing, how little he was able to tell his brother about the woman heâd known for almost six months. And the crowd at Kendraâs favorite bar knew even less. A couple of people remembered her leaving with some blond guy, but no one could provide his name. One cocktail waitress coming back on shift had called him âtasty,â and the bartender was able to describe his eyes.

âLike a huskyâs. That cold, ice-blue. Know what I mean?â

Thereâd been an odd moment when Riley had finally pulled up in front of his apartment building to drop him off, his brotherâs expression one of intense frustration, as if he couldnât decide what to say. Or how to say it. Then heâd scraped one hand back through his shaggy hair and asked, âDid you ever head out to that storage place over in Mountain Creek?â

After Elainaâs funeral, Riley had shipped their motherâs personal belongings back to Colorado, storing them in a nearby facility. Instead of selling the small house where sheâd lived, which had been in Elainaâs family for generations, he had left it in working order, along with some furnitureâsince, according to Riley, Saige was thinking of spending some time there when she wasnât wandering all over the world, searching for her bits of junk. Everything else had been brought to Colorado, including some things that Elaina had apparently wanted Ian to have. Not that heâd been interested. Heâd told Riley to throw whatever it was into storage, along with the rest of her stuff, which his brother had done. Then Riley had turned around and given him a set of keys to the storage unit, warning him that he might want to get his hands on whatever sheâd left him someday.

Considering what theyâd just been through, it had seemed an odd thing to bring up, but then Ian had given up trying to figure out how Rileyâs head worked a long time ago.

âI told you I wasnât interested in anything of Elainaâs,â heâd muttered, opening his door.

Before he could climb out of the truck, Riley had reached over and grabbed hold of his arm. âI think maybe you should go out there.â

âWhat the hell for?â heâd growled, pulling free of his brotherâs grip.

Riley had scowled as heâd slumped back against his seat. âIf I told you, youâd never believe me,â heâd said with a hard sigh, sounding worn out. âHell, I donât even believe it myself. But if thingsâ¦if things get weird, Iâll go out there with you. Help you find what she left for you.â

Shaking his head, Ian had climbed out of the Bronco, slamming the door behind him. As heâd walked around the front of the truck, Riley had stuck his head out the driverâs side window and shouted for Ian not to go anywhere until heâd heard from him.

Huh. As if he had the energy to go anywhere. Frustration had gnawed him down to the bone.

Slamming his backside down on his sofa, Ian tossed his cell on the battered coffee table, wondering if he should try Molly at the motel, then shook off the irritating thought. If she had half a brain, sheâd have already hit the road by now, and what would he say anyway? Hey, you were right. Some jackass mangled Kendra, leaving her body scattered over a field for an unlucky group of teenagers to come across when they stopped to take a leak. It was pretty sick and the kids are probably going to need therapy. Guess I really should have listened to you.

Naw, he could save that useless conversation forâ¦never. He already hated himself enough at the momentâhe didnât need to add her scorn on top of it. Sheâd tried to warn him, but like the arrogant know-it-all his brother always accused him of being, he hadnât listened. Seemed heâd spent years fine-tuning the worthless talent of shutting people out, ignoring them, even when they were trying to help him.

Scrubbing his hands down his face, Ian struggled to get his mind on something useful, something that would help Riley nail that murdering bastardâs ass, but his brain just kept buzzing with the images of Kendraâs broken body and the blood-soaked field that he knew he was never going to be able to fully erase from his memory. Hell, they couldnât even be sure itâd been a human who killed her, the damage was so extreme.

If you canât be honest with anyone else, jackass, at least be honest with yourself. You know what it was, his conscience taunted him, scraping against his nerves like a jagged blade. Youâve known all along.

Ian clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the snide asshole in his head, wishing he could just get his hands on whoeverâ¦or whatever was responsible. He might not have been in love with Kendra, but heâd respected the hell out of her, and at the start of their affair, heâd enjoyed the time he spent with her. Kendra Wilcox had been a good person. Funny, beautiful, independent. She hadnât deserved what sheâd suffered. Christ, no one deserved to die like that.

Riley was going to come back for him the second something came up, and he needed to rest before things started rolling, but he was too angry to sleep, adrenaline still pounding through his system, keeping him on edge. If he couldnât get some rest, food would be the next best thing to keep him going, but he couldnât face another nuked dinner. Everything tasted stale to him these days, his appetites bored with the usual fare.

Muttering under his breath, Ian made his way into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass, then headed back toward the sofa, picking up the remote for his flat-screen TV; the only thing in the apartment worth lifting, if anyone ever bothered to break in. Flicking on a Rockies game, he sprawled out over the cushions, trying to focus his mind on RBIs and pitching averages, rather than the gruesome images heâd witnessedâtrying not to think of Kendra and the strange little blond whoâd warned him that someone close to him was in danger.

Like an idiot, heâd spent the entire damn night and day trying to convince himself that Kendraâs murder had nothing to do with him, that he couldnât have prevented it from happening. But he knew better. There was a burning, gnawing sensation in his gut that felt too much like shame for him to buy his own bullshit. He made an attempt to drown out the unwanted, sour emotion by hitting the scotch, but it didnât work worth a damn. Instead, he just kept sinking deeper into the guilt, like standing on the muddy banks of a river, his bare feet sinking farther and farther into the thick layers of sludge. Riley had pressured him all night for anything he could offer up, but heâd lied through his teeth, claiming that he didnât have any information. He didnât tell him about Molly, much less the fact that sheâd delivered her strange little warnings straight to his face, begging him for his help.

And he sure as hell hadnât mentioned the dream theyâd shared. Instead, heâd done his best to avoid thinking about it, though it was always there, lingering at the edge of his consciousnessâ¦waiting for the moment to strike.

Like now, his conscience whispered, and he drained the glass, the liquor hitting his gut with a hot, fiery burn.

Exhaustion finally overtook him in the seventh inning, his last thoughts centering on Molly Stratton as he drifted into a restless sleep. He wondered where she was, what she was doing. Wishing he could get her out of his goddamn mind. Hating the grinding frustrationâ¦ the illogical panic that burned like acid in his chest every time he faced the maddening possibility that he might never see her again.

Despite the oppressive heat of the evening, he slept hard, thanks to the booze. Until the dreams began again. Ian had half expected the fertile heat of the forest and the erotic frenzy of the gypsy campfire, and heâd been prepared to do everything he could to keep his focus on the first woman he got beneath him. If he went with it, then maybe he wouldnât find himself drilling Molly into the damp forest floor, taking more of her than he had any right to.

But as always, fate had a way of turning around and biting him on the ass.

As Ian pulled himself up from the deep, murky levels of his subconscious, he opened his gritty eyes to a soft, flickering lightâand instantly knew something was wrong. Something even more messed-up than before. Than the twisted nightmares that had been plaguing him for weeks.

There was no forestâ¦no gypsy campfireâ¦no sloe-eyed provocative brunette to slake his lust.

Instead, Ian found himself kneeling on a soft, intricately woven Persian carpet, the air around him filled with the intoxicating scents of woman and wood smoke as a fire roared somewhere in a distant hearth, the heat of the flames warm against his naked body. And sprawled before him on her back, her pale thighs spread indecently wide, lay Molly.

âWhat?â he heard her gasp, surprise softening her husky voice, blurring the edges of her speech, as if sheâd only just realized it was happening again. Sheâd probably been snuggled up in one of the lumpy motel beds, carrying on some warped conversation with his motherâs ghost, only to suddenly find herself there, with him. Her gaze flicked its way down the pale line of her body, velvety brown eyes going wide with shock as she took in the unadulterated intimacy of their positions.

She moaned, and quickly covered herself with her arms.

Lust thickened in Ianâs throat, choking off his ability for speech. He gripped her wrists, pulling her arms away from her body, pinning them at her sides. The red-and-black swirl of the rug accentuated the warm, luminous glow of her skin, while her honeyed scent grew stronger with the rise of her pulse. Atop the delicate swell of her breasts, her nipples hardened like tender berries, lush and beautiful and ripe. He wanted to draw them into the heat of his mouth, suck on them until she came undone. Wanted to run his lips across her fever-warm skin, so smooth and soft and delicious, and work his way down the mouthwatering length of her body.

âIan?â she whispered, her voice hushedâ¦shaky. âHow?â

He shook his head, unable to pull his heavy gaze away from the provocative details of her figure, each exquisite discovery making him ache just a little harder, a little deeper. âI donât know.â

âWhere are we?â she asked, her breasts rising and falling as the cadence of her breathing grew shorter and sharper.

âDonât care. Just donât move, donât cover yourself,â he growled, a grittier edge to his voice than heâd ever heard before, graveled and rough. He released his hold on her wrists and shifted, rubbing himself against her, against those perfect breasts and the soft, slick folds nestled between her splayed thighs, her sex so tender and wet he damn near lost it then and there. There were so many things he wanted to do to her, to take from her. Harsh, explicit intimacies that had no place between strangersâand yet, heâd have taken them if he had the time. Hell, heâd have given her more of himself than heâd ever given any other woman in his entire lifeâhave lost himself in her, content to spend days on end exploring the sensual secrets of her body, drowning in the discoveriesâ¦in the breathtaking details.

But time was the one thing he didnât have.

He knew that with each harsh, erratic breath, the seconds heâd been granted with her were slipping away. Trying to grab hold of them would be like struggling to trap rushing water within his hand. Pointless, futile, and a waste of his time.

The scene was just too perfect to last. At any moment, Ian expected to have it ripped out from under him, leaving him completely destroyed.

He only hoped he didnât crash and burn when it happenedâwhen he lost her.

Pointless apologies for being such a jackass jammed painfully in his throat, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He choked them back as he caught the hazy, burnished glow of her gaze, saying, âI want to go down on you. I want it so bad I can taste it, Molly. But I donât know how long this is going to last, and no way in hell am I missing the chance to fuck you again.â

She didnât recoil at his crass honesty or try to roll away from him. She just lay there against the carpet, beautifully supplicant, arms bent, palms open either side of her flushed face, her hair a tangled fury of golden curls around the violent bloom of color in her cheeks. The luminous depths of her eyes pulled on him, dragging him deeper, as if he were falling into her, completely under her spell.

A log popped, crackling in the fireplace while an ominous bellow of thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, the harsh pulse of the oncoming storm echoing the violent pounding of his heart. Taking her softly panting silence for consent, Ian pressed closer, wanting to cradle her hands within his own, to rub his thumbs into the humid cups and stroke her skin, but he fought the urge, afraid of where that closeness would take him. It was already scary enough, this wild, unknown emotional no-manâs-land he kept finding himself in every time he got close to her.

Settling deeper between her spread thighs, Ian braced his weight on one elbow, then greedily opened his mouth over the succulent tip of her left breast, so hungry for her, he wanted to eat her alive. He rolled the exquisite, berry-red nipple against his tongueâ¦and fit himself against her. Their gazes locked. Held for a single, smoldering instant. Then he lifted his head and drove his body into her with a thick, grinding motion, having to work at her as hard as he had the night before. Her eyes went wide, white teeth sinking into the pansy-soft cushion of her lower lipâ¦and Ian shoved deeper.

Locking his jaw, he slowly pulled back his hips, the sensations so acute they bordered on that intense precipice of pleasure and pain. When heâd almost pulled completely out of herâhis muscles tensed, skin sweat-slick and burningâhe shoved back in, harder this time, somehow giving her more of him. His left hand came up to fist in the pale curls that haloed her head, holding her steady as he came down over her. Needing her taste, he claimed her mouth in an urgent, eating kiss, savoring her throaty moans against his tongue like a breathless stream of promises. Wrapping his other hand around her hip, his fingers biting into her flesh, he powered himself into her as if his life depended on it. Each heavy, possessive thrust fed a part of his soul that was greedy for every part of her, as if he could break her open and claim the pieces for his own.

âLook at the reflection,â he commanded against her lips in a dark, husky whisper, sharing her breath, her nipples hard against his chest, dragging against his skin as he moved over her, inside of her.

She panted, shaking her head.

âLook at the goddamn reflection, Molly.â

His fingers tightened in her hair, turning her head for her, and she stared at the explicit image emblazoned upon the wall of windows that took up an entire side of the room.

âI bet youâve never had that particular look on your face before,â he rasped with a low, wicked rumble of laughter. âNot Little-Miss-Molly-Do-Right. Youâre too shy. Too buttoned-up. Except with me. You know how hot that makes me?â

She shook her head again, gasping, and he said, âI get off on knowing that Iâm the only man who can crack that cool, pristine surface of yours and make you go wild. Make you scream and claw at me, completely out of control.â

And it was true. At the moment, her small nails were dug into his biceps so hard, he knew crescent marks would be left behind on his skin, a testament of her passion.

Her eyes drifted closed as the intensity cranked higher, her body writhing, drawing closerâ¦and closer to the edge, before she suddenly turned her face away from him. She was holding it back, denying her body what it wanted. Fighting it. Hiding from it. Hiding from him.

Grasping her chin, Ian pulled her back. âEyes open, Molls. I want to see it happen. Want to watch your face when you go over.â

âNoâ¦â

âOh, yeah.â The words were gritty and thick with lust, with pleasure. âStop fighting it.â

âYouâll leave me again,â she said quietly, her lashes lifting, revealing eyes that glistened with tears, the look in their mysterious depths making his breath catch, while something in his chest clenched with pain. In that moment, Ian had the strangest feeling that even though she was the one pinned to the floor, she held all the power, and there was nothing he could do to reclaim it.

Lowering his mouth to the moist hollow of her throat, he told her, âI wonât. I wonât leave you.â

She drew in a deep, shivery breath, clutching his back, her hands cool against the scalding heat of his body, and broke with his next down stroke, the tight, rhythmic pulses of her orgasm pulling him in, holding him, refusing to let him go. His tongue flicked against the damp heat of her skin, wanting the salty sweetness of her flesh, needing itâ¦craving it, and the next thing he knew, his fangs were buried deep in the side of her throat, near her shoulder. A sharp, hoarse scream pierced the air, the roar of his heartbeat deafening and fast in his ears, while the warm, heady spill of her blood filled his mouth, thick and hot and seductively rich. This was what he craved. This claiming of both her blood and her body. It was the one thing that satisfied that gnawing emptiness in his soul. The one thing that made him feel almost at peace, as if he was right where he belonged.

The thick pleasure slipped down his throat, his mouth working with greedy intent against her skin, needing moreâ¦and more, the hunger growing more insatiable than it had been before, suddenly frightening him with its power, its urgency. Ian fought himself for what seemed like endless, drugging moments. Wicked, decadent pleasure pulsed heavily in every cell of his body. Finally, he managed to rip himself away, terrified he would drown in that dark, destructive burn of gratification and drain her dry.

Canâtâ¦ Canât lose her.

Ian screwed his eyes shut against the haunting beauty of her blood spilling gently from the puncture wounds, slipping across the translucent glow of her skin.

âShitâ¦shit,â he hissed, his fangs heavy within his gums, her taste exquisitely hot in his mouth, while his body slammed into her harderâ¦faster. He wanted to run, to escape the uncomfortable knowledge sinking into his bones, but he kept his word, staying with her until the hot, blistering friction shoved him into his own raging explosion. He pulled free at the last second, erupting onto her pale stomach in hard, violent surges, the intensity of the orgasm all but destroying him, turning him inside out. He looked everywhere and nowhereâanywhere but at her face, in her eyes. He had no idea whatâd he see there, and he was terrified of finding out.

âIan,â she said softly, her voice hitching with emotion. âDonât leave. Please. Not yet.â

He ground his jaw, not knowing what to say, how to give her what she needed. Comfort. Warmth. Caring. Those things were as foreign to him as color to a blind man.

You have to give her something, jackass.

âMolly,â he rasped, forcing himself to meet her gaze. âIâ¦â He tried to choke out an apology, an explanation, the words somehow strangled inside of him, and she lifted her hand, cupping his cheek in her cool, soft palm.

âShh, itâs okay,â she whispered, the look in her eyes so strangely tender, it scared the ever-loving hell out of him. âYou donât have to say anything, Ian. Just hold me.â

âYeah. All right.â The simple words came out alarmingly shaky, his eyes suspiciously hot, the strange buzz of emotions slamming through him as terrifying as they were unfamiliar. There was more than just a beast awakening within him. The very fabric of his being, his personality, was being shifted, altered, molded into something new beneath the power of her hands.

He loathed it as much as he hungered for more, for everything she could give him. The rational part of his mind wanted to retreat, to escape the gauzy web of emotional overload closing in around him like a suffocating fog, but he held firm, unwilling to leave before giving her this one thing. He owed it to her after sheâd given of herself so freely, so beautifully.

âCome on,â she teased, holding out her arms to him. âI promise I donât bite.â

The corner of his mouth twitched with bitter humor, and he lowered himself over her, letting her take his weight, the delicious cushion of her body pressed against his own making him hiss, his fangs still heavy within his mouth, the exquisite taste of her blood lingering like a gift.

But it was her arms closing around him that undid him. That, and the way she suddenly smiled at him. Beautiful. Sweet. Shy and serene. So trusting, it blew his goddamn mind.

He should have known it was too good to last.

Her breath sucked in on a sharp gasp the second the dream began changing on him, the room melting away, like an acid trip gone bad. A blistering wind swept through the swaying pines, replacing the warmth of the fire, the carpet giving way to the fertile soil of the forest. The air was heavy, electric, the storm rolling in hard and fast.

âIan!â Molly cried, her small nails digging into his arms, eyes huge within the startled expression of fear creeping over her face, the damp flush of satisfaction paling to ghostly white.

Ready to reassure her that everything was going to be okay, that he wouldnât hurt herâ¦that heâd protect her, he opened his mouth, when something cried out in the distance, like a wolfâs howl, but different. Harsher, thicker, grittier. Guttural and terrifying as hell.

âFuck,â he snarled, sweeping his gaze from side to side. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, his body tense, ready for battle. Something was out there. Something evil. Something hungry.

Hating the helpless feeling of inevitability creeping over him, slimy and cold and slick, Ian scrambled to his feet, spinning in a circle. Panic clawed its way beneath his skin, digging painfully deep, shredding his confidence. âGo!â he barked at Molly, when she stumbled to her feet. Her pale body gleamed like a pearl beneath the ethereal streams of lavender moonlight, and it terrified him, how delicate and fragile she was. âGet the hell out of here!â he roared, knowing they were running out of timeâ¦that every moment she stayed with him put her life in danger.

Whatever was out there, it was closing in. Fast. And it wanted him.

She shook her head, chin lifting, and then her eyes suddenly went huge as she looked over his shoulder. He braced himself for the blow before it came, survival instincts surging into focus. Something heavy and thick slammed into him, taking him to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs at the same time Molly let out a bloodcurdling scream of terror.

âSheâs going to scream like that when I fuck her stupid little brains out, just like that other useless bitch,â a grizzled voice rasped in his ear, the heavy weight of it pinning him to the ground, and Ian felt the stirring of that thing inside of him. Felt its growl breaking out of his chest, bleeding out in a feral sound of outrage and fury as the darkness rose beneath the fevered surface of his skin.

âCasus,â he snarled, the word surging up from the depths of his subconscious without any direction from his brain.

âCome on, Merrick,â it whispered huskily in his ear, the rank, meaty stench of its breath filling his nose, sliding down his throat, gagging him. âGive me a run for my money.â

And in the next instant, Ian awakened.

CHAPTER SIX

WITH A STRANGLED GASP, Ian opened his eyes, blinking against the shifting shadows of his living room, the low buzz from the TV drowned out by the hammering beat of his heart, the colors from the screen painting the room in a hazy, psychedelic glow. âChrist,â he hissed, scrubbing his hands down his face, struggling to get his breathing under control, his body slick with sweat, chest so tight that for a moment he almost believed he was having a heart attack.

But then a strange, fertile scent hit his nose, and he pulled his hands away from his face, squinting at the dark smear of dirt on his palms.

What the hell?

Suspicions mounting, he started to roll up into a sitting position when a cramp hit his gut, vicious and sharp, doubling him over. His lips pulled back over his teeth, body curling into a fetal position there on the sweat-damp sofa, muscles tensing as spasm after torturous spasm coiled through him, contorting him like a seizure. It felt like something inside of him was trying to force its way out, punching against his insides.

A raw, graveled cry of pain ripped out of his chest, and he struggled to hold himself together, afraid to let go and surrender to the thing inside that was doing everything it could to tear its way through, struggling to take control of his body. It scared the shit out of him, the possibility of what he might become, the things he might do, if the darkness battled its way to the surface.

Cursing, Ian twisted as another violent spasm shot through him, fiery and hot and painful, and the silver casing of his cell phone lying on the coffee table flashed at the corner of his eye. Riley! That was it. He needed to call his brother. Needed him there. God only knew what would happen if he couldnât hold it in, couldnât keep it together. Horrific images from the scene of Kendraâs murder flashed through his mind, ripping through the landscape of his terror like a scythe, thrashing and destructive. Gritting his teeth, he lunged for the phone, reaching out with his right hand, shouting when he saw that the tips of his fingers were bleeding. Razor-sharp talons slowly pierced through his callused fingertips, the bones in his hand expanding, musculature thickening, exactly the way it had in his nightmares. With horrified eyes, he watched as the blood ran down the back of his hand, over the heavy veins pumping beneath his skin, down his thick wrist, matting in the hairs on his arm.

Christ, he was turning into a goddamn, son of a bitching monster!

No. Not monster. Merrick.

No sooner had Ian thought the word, than his last dream came rushing back at him, and he remembered what the creature had said. Remembered its threat against Molly. And if heâd been able to slip into a dream with her again, fucking her, feeding from her, then she was probably still in Henning. Still close. And in a shit-load of danger.

âHeâs going after her,â he gasped, panting, seethingâ¦knowing only that he had to get to her first.

He lifted his head, his lip curling as a low, aggressive snarl broke from his throat. The next thing Ian knew, he was rushing from the apartment, out into the unusually humid night, the air close and damp against his skin, a faint scent of electricity in the air. Thunder rumbled in the distance as a violent summer storm rolled its way in, eerily reminiscent of the dream with Molly. Vaulting over the banister of the second-story walkway, he landed in a low crouch on the warm asphalt of the apartment parking lot, knees bent, one hand flat against the ground between his legs for balance. The gritty tarmac was damp against the bare soles of his feet, the thick shadows of the night mysteriously brightened with a faint, luminous glow. The rational part of his brain knew that he shouldnât be able to see so clearly, just as it knew that the leap from the second story should have injured him, but he sprang into motion. His body felt more alive, more powerful than ever before, the adrenaline pumping through his system as addictive as it was empowering.

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