Stake and Dust (Stake and Dust series, Book I) (17 page)

The sun had felt good against his skin, but
not as good as Cassandra felt in his arms. He hadn't felt this
comfortable with a female in a long time, and that was saying
something when said female was grilling him to find out the real
truth. He could have ended it anytime. He could have sent her home,
but then she'd give him a look, sweet and all so tantalizing at the
same time. He may be lying about who he claimed to be, but his
feelings for her were genuine. He was falling for her. Who was he
kidding? He'd fallen for her, big time.

Later, they drove into town for dinner at an
Italian restaurant, where they drank wine and talked some more.
Truly, he couldn't remember having a more engaging conversation
with someone. Cassandra loved Lord Byron, Keats, and especially
Percy Shelley and Mary Shelley's work. Of course she would know the
author who wrote about one of the most famous monsters.

"Percy and Mary's relationship was scandalous
for the time," she said. "Shelley had been a married man when he
ran away with her."

"Sometimes men can be fools when it comes to
love," he said and met her gaze. "We know the relationship is
wrong, and shouldn't pursue it, but yet we still take the chance
for that one moment of pure bliss."

"Hmm…" She sipped her wine. "Are you speaking
from experience, Mr. Green?"

"Tremayne," he
corrected, not wanting the dead hunter here with them. "Perhaps."
He shrugged. "Would you take the chance?"

"For love?" she asked and he nodded. "Yes, I
do believe I might. But not with a married man," she added. "There
are some lines I will not cross."

Would she cross the line and fall for him, a
monster her Preternatural Bureau would label him? He wondered, but
then she did have compassion for Frankenstein's monster, believing
his rejection, and loneliness drove him to be mad.

"So you're saying if the monster had been
hugged and nurtured, he would not have killed over and over again?"
he asked.

"We'll never know," she said. "But then we
wouldn't have a story if it went directly to hugs and kisses."

"No, I suppose we wouldn't."

He had a wonderful day and should be basking
in it still, but his body felt bloody awful. He ate food at the
restaurant, but not enough to make him this ill. Wine didn't affect
vampires. Yet his head pounded as if he had one of those hangovers,
he heard humans describe.

He rang Sheerin the moment he could. Sheerin
assured him this was a side effect from the potion and he'd have to
ride it out.

Thank goodness his meltdown hadn't occurred
until long after the sun had set. His hands shook, his mouth felt
as if he ate sand, and the pit of his stomach ached for substance,
a vampire's kind of substance.

If he'd been a newly made vamp, Cassandra's
life would have been at risk. Heck, what was he saying? His life
would have been in jeopardy. Cassandra would have dusted him on the
spot if he'd lost control and nibbled on her neck. No questions
asked. Lucky for him, he learned self-control. In his youth, he'd
been taken prisoner from one of the more lethal vampire septs. For
entertainment, they would bleed him before they locked him in a
cell with humans to see how long it would take before he broke and
drank them dry. That was centuries ago, but he'd never forgotten
the lessons… and the consequences of his actions when he
hadn't.

He lifted the cup to his lips and indulged in
the specialty drink of wine and blood. His wine cellar was stocked
with more of the same vintage.

His mind drifted
to Cassandra, who slept peacefully on his bed. They hadn't made
love, but talked some more as if they hadn't said enough already.
They played cards of all things. She had a wicked sense of humor
and a need to win. Unfortunately for her, he liked to win also. His
lips curved as he remembered how bewildered she'd looked when he
placed the cards on the table and said, "Gin." He was beginning to
learn her expressions and what they meant. This would prove a more
dangerous game, especially since it involved his heart.

He glanced toward the open French doors where
he could see Cassandra stretched out on his bed. Her mahogany
strands appeared like dark silk on his pillow in the dim light. The
steady thump of her heart told him she slept still. He took a step
toward her, but stopped when he heard the low growl from
Shakespeare. His dog trotted into view and sat on his haunches at
the threshold of the French doors. Shakespeare knew he was
dangerous, and he would do his best to protect the woman sleeping
on his bed.

"I know, lad," he said to his hound. He could
not trust himself to behave, and he didn't entirely mean his
longing to feed, but rather his desire to touch her…make love to
her.

He closed his eyes and turned away. He must
remain on the balcony for now. He reached for the wine bottle on
the table instead of his glass and downed the rest of the liquid.
The blood seeped into his system like a salve for his parched
insides. He placed the bottle down on the table and wiped his mouth
with the back of his hand.

The glass top table was part of a patio set,
he purchased years ago. He'd only sat out here at night, but today,
he'd lounged in broad daylight, enjoying the surf as the waves
rolled in. Cassandra had sat next to him. He'd glanced at her and
remembered how glad he'd been when she'd finally relaxed. He didn't
believe she'd totally given up on proving he wasn't human, but for
a while she let it go.

"Definitely a day to remember," he murmured
and slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a breath mint
and sucked on it a few seconds so to remove any lingering taste of
blood. Just in case, he thought. He just might kiss Cassandra Hayes
before she left his residence and headed back to her hotel. Though
he liked the taste of blood, he didn't fancy Cassandra would.

"Couldn't sleep?"

He froze at the sound of Cassandra's voice.
Could he be near her now and not jeopardize her wellbeing? He held
out his hands in front of him. They were steadier than they had
been earlier.

He didn't have to turn around to know she was
walking toward him. Her soft footfalls were like thunder in his
ears or was it his vampire heart beating faster than it should?

He swallowed hard as her hands slipped around
his waist. She then maneuvered herself in front of him. Large green
cat-like eyes peered at him beneath dark lashes. Beautiful and
lethal and he really, really wanted to kiss those rose-colored
lips. His hands slid into her hair as he cupped her face and
indulged. Heaven above, she tasted better than the richest blood,
better than anything he'd tasted in a long time.

Her hold on him tightened as she stepped
closer, her every curve pressing against him, and if she didn't
know he wanted her before, she knew now. Her tongue danced with his
and he found himself leading her back inside the house and toward
the bed. They fell upon it, still kissing, touching, ravishing…

"Tremayne?"

A voice called to him, but he tried to push
it away. He wanted to enjoy this moment with Cassandra.

"Tremayne?" the voice was louder and then
someone shook him.

What the— His eyes flew open and he sat up
straight. He blinked back the haziness clouding his mind and forced
his eyes to focus. He wasn't in bed with Cassandra, but sitting on
one of the chairs outside on his balcony. Cassandra stood in front
of him, frowning at him with concern.

His hand washed over his face as if to erase
the last remnants of sleep. He cleared his throat. "Sorry, must
have dozed off out here," he told her.

"Yeah," she said and smiled. "I did a little
dozing myself inside." She pointed with her thumb toward the bed, a
blush spreading from her neck to her cheeks.

His keen senses had returned. Sheerin's
daylight concoction must have finally worn off, but the remnants of
the dream still lingered and he shifted in his seat and hoped
Cassandra hadn't noticed.

"I should be going," she said. As much as
he'd like her to stay, he really needed to let her go. He didn't
have anymore of the daylight serum and he couldn't very well have
her stay overnight.

"I'll walk you to your car." For a moment he
thought the light in her green eyes had dimmed. Did she seem
disappointed that he didn't ask her to stay? If so, she masked it
well by shifting her attention to Shakespeare who had padded over
to her. She scratched behind the big dog's ears.

"It was so good to meet you, boy," she told
Shakespeare. His hound answered her with a slobbery kiss and she
laughed.

Tremayne really liked her laugh. He liked
everything about her. She glanced his way with a smile and he
returned the gesture as he stood.

When they headed downstairs and outside,
Shakespeare trotted behind on their heels. It seemed his hound dog
still didn't trust him around Cassandra or perhaps his dog fell
under her enchantment as he had.

Once she was seated in her vehicle, she
rolled down the window. "I had a nice time today," she told
him.

"Me too." He shoved his hands in his pockets.
Too much fun, and he really wanted to see her again. "Can I call on
you tomorrow or rather today?" he asked before he could stop
himself from thinking this through.

Her lips curved. "I'd like that, but you
really need to get some rest." There was that frown again. "You
look...really tired. You should have kicked me out of your
bed."

"It'll never happen," he said with a grin and
wondered where in the heck he learned to flirt with such ease? She
blushed and didn't it just make her all the more attractive with
soft pink coloring her cheeks.

"How about I meet you at the pub later
today?" she offered.

She cleverly sidestepped around his comment,
but at least it hadn't scared her off. "I'll be there at six," he
told her.

"Sounds good."

He stood there in his driveway until her
lights were a mere dot on the horizon. Shakespeare nudged his hand
with a whine, and he patted him on the head. "I know. I didn't want
her to go either."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cassandra hadn't expected to fall asleep, and
in Tremayne's bed of all things. She hadn't totally ruled out her
suspicion he was a preternatural being, but so far the only threat
he posed was making her fall for his charms.

Her Otherworldly radar was usually spot on.
She believed Tremayne was a vampire. Wasn't that just a kick in the
pants? How could she be so wrong about the guy? "He had no problem
walking in the sun," she murmured, and she had half expected him to
burst into flames the moment he stepped outside the pub. "But he's
hiding something," she spoke to herself again as she glanced in her
rearview mirror to find Tremayne standing there with his trusty dog
at his side, watching her drive away. She shook her head. She
didn't know many vamps that kept a pet either. Well, not unless
they planned on eating them.

Tremayne loved Shakespeare, had rescued the
hound dog from a shelter. She couldn't imagine him making the dog a
midnight snack. Besides Shakespeare adored Tremayne. There was no
fear, no growling as if he sensed something evil. Animals were
pretty good at sensing things they shouldn't confront, like
vampires, demons, and werewolves. "Oh my," she said with a chuckle
and imagined a more demented version of the Wizard of Oz – because
let's face it – the story was already perverse with its flying
monkeys, wicked witch and all.

She glanced in the rear view mirror again
even though she was too far away to see Tremayne anymore. "If
you're not a preternatural, how did you manage to leap to a third
story window and break into the Lamia's room?" She couldn't refute
the facts. There had never been a fire escape. She went back to
check before she headed over to the pub. So how had he managed to
leap tall buildings in a single bound? Unless he was related to the
man in tights, she highly doubted he was that agile. No matter how
strong his upper body strength proved to be.

She turned toward her hotel. She needed to
sleep on this. Figure this out and make sense of it.
Tremayne...Gerard...or whoever he wanted to call himself, he was
hiding something and she planned to find out what it was before she
went home.

Her phone buzzed, but she waited until she
pulled into the parking space and killed the engine. She fished it
out of her pocket and glanced at the caller ID. "Derek," she
murmured and pressed redial.

"Hey, sis."

"You rang?" she asked as she stepped out of
the car and headed for her room.

"Just checking in on my little sis to see how
she was doing."

"May I remind you I'm only nine months
younger than you, and women mature much faster than men do. So in a
sense, I'm the eldest." Once inside her room she locked the
door.

"Hardy har har."

She chuckled as she kicked off her boots
before plopping down on the bed. "So why the call?" Derek usually
didn't ring her to shoot the breeze, and he'd called her two days
in a row.

"Did you ask Gerard why he hasn't called his
sister?"

"Uh..." She'd forgotten about that. "I'm
seeing him tonight."

"Is that so?" There was a long pause before
he spoke again. "Gerard–"

"He goes by Tremayne here," she interrupted.
The name Gerard didn't fit the hunter she'd come to know.

"Tremayne then."

"And?"

"He has a wife in Dublin."

She stood up straight and felt the blood
drain to her toes. "What did you say?" He'd mentioned the sister.
He hadn't mentioned a wife.

"He left his wife in Dublin. He cheated on
her, Cass, with one of the top dog agent's daughters. That's why
he's here in the states. He pissed off the brass."

She ran a hand through her hair. Tremayne
hadn't tried to sleep with her, but he kissed her. Damn him. "So
that's what he's been hiding," she murmured out loud.