Killer Temptation (9 page)

The useless hex didn’t work because there was only one way for a
moitié
to kill another
moitié
…and it wasn’t a witch’s enchantment. Brianna failed. The pain he endured because of the spell, however, affected him with great degree. "Maybe you'll understand one day, when you find your own mate."

Mikel shot him an incredulous look, one brow high as he snickered.
What? Didn’t his brother believe in such things?
What a complete
imbécile
. Tristan assumed the same once, yet a single taste of Brianna proved him wrong.

“Think what you will,
frère
.” Tristan passed the black baroque lacquer mirror on the wall—a gift he received in 1852 from his devoted friend and ally Napoleon the Third—and drew back the wooden doors of the large armoire. He grabbed his boots, threw clean clothes over his arm, then bypassed Mikel and headed for the en-suite. “Do me a favour and note down on the stationary where you saw her, and then you may leave,” he called over his shoulder. “Tonight I will at last have her.”

The bathroom door slammed shut from the force of his hand. Three pillar candles sat on the vanity, shedding small, round orbs of light against the wall. He stepped around the copper claw-foot slipper tub, threw the clothes onto the settee, snatched a box of matches, and lit a few more candles. He strode to the large open stall to turn the lever.

Hot, steam shot from the showerhead, and he adjusted the nozzle for additional pressure. For decades he had used the copper bathtub and had been close to tearing the shower stall apart with his bare hands when first installed, but soon got the hang of it. Like many of his kind, he preferred traditional facilities. But others protested against this, and he, along with the councilmen chose to allow some modern technology into their ancient homes.

The council approved many things such as restaurants, bars, day spas, internet cafes, and cell phones. His sister in-law insisted he try the modern wash facility. She’d already won him over with the phone, so he trusted her recommendation.

He stripped bare and stepped inside. His shoulders slumped as heat seeped beneath his pores, relaxing him. He laid his forehead against the tiles, eyes drifting shut, the tension in his neck easing beneath the wet warmth of the turbo setting. Brianna still cloaked his mind, covering every corner of his racing thoughts. That blonde, sleek hair, creamy skin and grey, deep-set eyes flashed like a slideshow behind his shut lids. “Soon.” He hit the ceramic wall with his palm, but the reassurance didn’t help. Soon wasn’t enough. Soon wasn’t now!

Turning off the water, he snatched the thick maroon towel that hung on the wall outside the shower and dressed with speed, slipping into a pair of navy blue trousers, a black, button-down shirt and leather boots before heading back into his
hopefully
empty bedroom.

Not a chance. Mikel sat at the edge of his bed. The stationary, ink and quill remained untouched on the bureau. The older vampire—who didn’t appear older at all—peered up, hard lines furrowing his face.

“I will not let you go alone. You are still weak and in no position to flash around the world, even for that bitc…woman.” Mikel corrected when Tristan shot him a levelled stare.

“I suppose you wish to take me,
frère
?”

“Of course. Our other
frères’
will be joining us.”

“You told Dominic and Julian. Was that necessary?” Why not just place him in a wheelchair? Or nurture him like a damn newborn? Better yet, if they wanted a swifter way to knock down his testosterone, they could kick him between the legs.

“Yes.” Mikel rose from the bed and followed him to the wardrobe. “You may be blinded by your bond, but we all cannot forget what this woman almost did to you, for no reason, might I add.”

Tristan snatched his black Bavaria jacket. “Maybe she did have a reason,” he mumbled under his breath, hoping Mikel hadn’t heard. His brother’s brows rose almost to his hairline. Of course. The man had the hearing of an owl. All vampires did.

“You cannot be serious?”

Tristan scowled, snatching a pair of gold cufflinks from his drawer. “Brianna comes from a witch family and it’s no secret a vampire killed that witch on the night of the annual celebration. So maybe she felt defensive to her witch community. Maybe someone in her family convinced her to seek revenge. The committee has received several threats already. Perhaps, she thought to act on those threats.”

“
Bon Dieu!
Look at you, defending this woman’s actions—”

“I must.” He slammed the closet door shut. “I want to believe in my
moitié
. You don’t think I’m angry? A part of me wants to strangle her until she gives me a reason as to why she did what she did. Trust me, brother, fury has consumed me for weeks, but I must control my temper. At least until I learn the truth.”

“Then what? What after?”

“When, or
if
I learn the truth, I will deal with her. Brianna is mine. Only I touch her.
Comprendre?
”

Mikel nodded, but in no way was Tristan convinced. He’d have to keep an eye out. His brothers were known to lose their tempers faster than a blink of an eye, as though it was some Delacroix curse. Mikel happened to be the worst. So, yes, underestimating him wasn’t wise.

“
Bonjour
.”

He frowned at the cheerful distraction.

Dominic entered the room, followed by Julian.

Tristan threw on his jacket. The urge to tell them to leave tingled his tongue, not in the mood for anyone’s light teasing, but instead he bit the inside of his cheek and held out his hand; a gesture that got straight to the point. Mikel’s words sank home, he wasn’t one hundred percent and he needed to conserve all the energy he had. “Take me to her. Now.”

Mikel sighed—a clear indication of his annoyance—and took his hand.

Blackness consumed his vision. No shift in movement, no dancing breeze whistling in his ear. Just silence. All vampires shared the same experience with teleportation; almost like being in a dark room for a long time before someone turns up the lights. Through the obscure muteness, a small orange glow caught his attention. The soft light grew. Like random pieces all fitting onto a puzzle, the sight in front of him filled. That radiance, he now realised, came from the reflection of the streetlight against a window. Tristan drew in the warm night air and glared at the large brick building.

“What is this place?” he asked, gaze running over the numerous motorbikes parked before the restaurant and the few bikes on display behind the large windows. The echo of a fiddler rang out onto the quiet street. People sat inside, heads bopping, hands clapping in tune to the music.

“This is the teashop where she works as a waitress,” Dominic explained. No hint of amusement filled his tone this time. Good.

He swallowed, studying the unfamiliar building. Brianna worked here? Fire ran through his major organs. Not because she waitressed, but because he hadn’t known. In fact, he hadn’t discovered much about her other than her adoption into a witch family from Tennessee…
and
her attempt to kill him.

The first night they met, they kept their conversation short, but their passion was a full-blown inferno. No wonder they ended up in the back office of the hall. Small talk had been the last thing on his mind when all he craved was release within her sexy body.

He crossed his arms over his chest, shut his eyes, and listened through the stream of music, the several conversations, and the running about.

“Billy sure knows how to play a tune,” an older female said.

“And when I finally asked her to the dance, she said no,” an adolescent voice shouted, followed by an abrupt response of male laughter.

“I just want ice-cream,” a child whined.

“And you will get ice-cream once you finish eating dinner,” a stern male voice followed.

“Done with that?” There! That female voice he recognised. He lingered on the spot, not searching any further.

“How were the hot tamales, Madeline?”

That sweet voice ran from the café, over to him out in the street, seeping beneath his skin, warming him, vibrating his body. He kept his feet on the road before instinct kicked in, telling him to dash inside and take what was his.
She’s here
. His Brianna was so close now.

“Just great, Bri,” an older southern accent replied. “I think we’re ready for dessert now.”

“Sure. That’s the usual moon pie and a homemade brownie for Jackson?”

“Jackson? Brianna asked you a question. Sorry, Bri, his hearing is worse than ever these days.”

“That’s okay. I’ll get Peg to bring out your order. I need to take the garbage out back.”

“Don’t work too hard, dear.”

“Thank’s, Madi.”

His breathing quickened. Unsure of where he headed, he hurried down the road in search of a back entrance to the café. An alley sat along his left side. Gravel and dirt crunched beneath his polished boots as he followed the path. Behind the building he found an open lot with parked trucks and cars. Two large garbage containers sat next to a back hallway, closed by a wrought iron door.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins. Any moment his Brianna would walk outside. He anticipated her reaction. Would she scream? Cry with relief? Cry for help? Tristan frowned at the thought, and turned to his brothers, fists gripped by his sides. "You will all stay here,
comprenez-vous?
I don't want to scare her half to death by having all of us surround her."

"I think she'll be scared regardless, since the man she assumed she killed will be standing right in front of her."

Dieu
, Mikel had a point. It didn't matter, though. Tristan crossed the path toward the brick building and stood near the single door by the dumpster. Shuffling, followed by a female grunt made him hold his breath, then a slender hand propped the iron door back with a loud creak. He could have sworn he had been poisoned all over again because the sight of her left him breathless.

With her head down, gaze on the two large garbage bags she struggled to carry, she exited the back door. A short cream dress covered in tiny pink flowers came to her knees, and a blue apron wrapped around her thin waist.

Her shape might be considered a tad too slim, with breasts smaller than a handful. To him it didn’t make a difference. Women came in all shapes and sizes, unique and beautiful in their own right. Brianna was no different. He remembered palming her breasts through the black dress she wore, remembered her legs wrapping around his waist as he drove his hips into her over and over, bringing them both to an unbelievable height that shattered in an explosive orgasm. Oh yes, he was certain he brought her to such extremes. The way her legs trembled around him, the way she screamed as her inner walls squeezed.

Impulse told him to grab her, hold her close, make up for all the nights they missed. The last time he saw her he wanted her just as bad… Wait! He shook his head. The last time she had run away and left him to die. The memory settled in the back of his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He would not judge, not until he learned the reason behind her actions.

She froze mid-step. Brows furrowing, her lashes rose, and those grey eyes met his. Could her lips be tweaking into a smile? He must have been mistaken, for they thinned into a thin line. A lifetime passed as they stared at one another. Her mouth fell open, and he didn’t miss the catch in her breath. She stepped back and shook her head.

"Hello, Brianna,” he said in an even tone; his voice much clearer than the pathetic scratchiness from when she had tried to kill him.

"No," she whispered. The two full bags slid from her hands and fell to the ground. She didn’t blink at the shatter of glass or the clang that vibrated the air. No, instead, tears filled her eyes and she took another step backward…ready to run?

He clenched his jaw. With two forward steps, he closed the space and seized her shoulders. Now her eyes grew wide, face paling. Yes, she could not deny he was alive and by no means some figment of her imagination, or a phantom to haunt her days.

"How?" she asked in a fierce whisper, eyes glittered with a threat of tears.

"How indeed?" For weeks he stirred over the reason for her actions, so if anyone had to ask questions, it would be him. "How could you do what you did, knowing you're my
moitié
? Tell me who put you up to this, and I might be lenient." A lie, just to frighten her into telling the truth. He’d be sympathetic toward the witches, for her sake.

His young Brianna was no doubt very loyal to her family. She could not hold all the blame. After all, he remembered the look of fear that night, the way she trembled and the tears she shed before taking hold of him for that toxic kiss.

He didn’t believe she did this of her own accord, perhaps coerced into doing the deed.
Why him?
Maybe she confessed their brief encounter, maybe they told her to take action against him or else be disowned. There were a thousand justifiable reasons, but only one veritable answer.

The fear in her eyes vanished, leaving in its place an emotionless, grey void. Her features hardened, and the line of her mouth thinned. "No one put me up to it. In fact, I begged for permission because I wanted to do the world a favour by getting rid of one bloodsucking bastard."

An explosion of fury gushed through his limbs. The anger he fought to restrain grew, erupting with full force.

She shrank back when glaring into his eyes. “You’re hurting me,” she cried, but he ignored her, fingers bitting into her arms.

He suffered agonising pain because he was a vampire, no other reason. The truce between the species always trailed on thin ice, he was well aware of that. But for her to declare her hatred against his kind…it baffled him. Not because of her animosity, but for the simple fact she was his
moitié
.