Tormented by Darkness (9 page)

He stirred, and her demonic nature surged forth, urging her to pick up the gun and bury a bullet in his heart before he opened his eyes. She stumbled backward, grimacing against the call of her father’s evil, fighting for the ability to breathe. She had to get out of here. Away from Mick before the curse that doomed her to kill the one she fell in love with eradicated the lighter half of her soul.

Her feet couldn’t move fast enough as she fled his bedroom and raced down the stairs for her clothes. In the wide living room, she dressed quickly, tugging on her panties, shimmying into her dress, and stuffing her feet into her heels. But it wasn’t fast enough. When she turned around to race to the front door, Mick stood in the entryway, one shoulder braced against the doorframe, puzzlement marking a frown on his face.

“Mick.”

His gaze swept over her, taking in her rumpled clothing. “I didn’t realize waking up beside me was so horrific you couldn’t say goodbye.”

As her spirit warred between the craving for death and the need to preserve life, Rhiannon inhaled deeply, searching for a measure of control. “It’s not that. I have a mountain of work to do, and it’s already late morning. You looked so relaxed I didn’t want to wake you.” To further emphasize her lies, she forced a smile and added, “I thought I’d call you later.”

He cocked a dark eyebrow. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t bullshit a detective. You ran out of my room like the house was on fire.”

Rhiannon sagged against the truthfulness of his observation. She pushed her hair out of her face and sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I do have work, but I’m also going camping with my brothers, and I can’t stay any longer.”

He nodded. Pushing his weight off the doorframe, he adjusted his crooked boxer briefs and crossed the room to set his hands on her waist. His lips brushed over hers, soft and warm, and arcing agony through her soul. She wanted to stay. Needed to run.

“I enjoyed last night very much,” he whispered against her lips.

As Mick gazed down at her, tenderness radiating in his dark eyes, Dáire’s promise from the night before surfaced.
If you don’t get his ass here tomorrow, I will.
The ritual was her only hope of escaping the curse and preventing the darkness from taking Mick’s life. Whatever thoughts she might have had of waiting for Dáire no longer mattered. She refused to spend a single day faced with acknowledging she’d killed the one man she had ever truly loved.

For a moment, Rhiannon indulged. She caught Mick’s mouth with hers, traced the firm but gentle contours with the tip of her tongue. Ever so slightly, his grip on her waist tightened. His lips parted, their breaths mingling before his tongue seared across hers and drew her back into the world of pleasure only he knew how to create.

She slid her palms up his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin, then looped her arms around his neck. It took all of her concentration to override the vein of dark energy that opened at his very nearness and force the murderous yearnings aside. Mick was kissing her, his hands sliding up and down her back, exploring as if they hadn’t just spent an incredibly passionate night together. Urging her to remember. Egging all that foul corruption into the unthinkable.

Rhiannon backed out of the kiss as the conflicting urges battled. The ritual—she needed him there. Doing her best to hide the frantic need for his agreement, she held his smoldering gaze. “Why don’t you come with us? Get away for a bit? It’s my birthday.”

His frown returned to crease his brow. “I have Steve’s funeral.”

“I could wait for you. We could go up this evening and meet Dáire and Cian there.”

He released his hold on her waist and stepped back, putting what felt like an ocean between them. “Rhiannon. Last night—”

The drawn out way he carefully measured his words set off alarm bells. His energy shifted, shockwaves of resistance pummeling into her. Her smile dimmed. “Yes?”

****

Mick tunneled his fingers through his hair. This was sheer insanity. He was so damn tempted by her offer, for a moment he’d forgotten the funeral. When he remembered, he’d been half tempted to skip Steve’s final farewell, just for the promise of more time alone with her. He’d had her three times—by now he ought to have had his fill. And yet, standing in the radiant heat of her body, he craved her even more.

Ached for a woman who could never embrace him for what he was.

“What about last night, Mick?”

A slight edge crept into her voice, telling him already he’d let things go too far. Time to back off before one of them got in so deep somebody bled. Before he
couldn’t
let her go.

He braved her troubled gaze. “You know this can’t go anywhere, right? I’m not the settling down kind. Even if I was, we’re too different.”

Though he’d hidden behind those words a dozen times or more, this time they hurt. Being with her felt good in ways he didn’t understand. He didn’t want to cut her off, cut
them
off. But logically, he knew he’d only wound her if he let her stay around and allowed her to become emotionally invested in him.

A touch of pain flashed behind her eyes, but to his surprise, it didn’t linger and burn. She didn’t argue, didn’t try to present a case for all the reasons he was wrong. Instead, she nodded. “I know,” she answered quietly. “But it feels good right now.”

Damn. She’d responded like a dream come true. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect arrangement—enjoy each other for a while, no strings, no promises neither one could fulfill. So why did hearing her acknowledge there was no future for them twist him up inside?

He sucked the unexplainable discomfort down. “Yeah, it does. I just don’t want any false pretenses between us.”

She nodded. “So you want me to wait, or do you want to stay here?”

Mick didn’t need time to think. After all, it was her birthday. “I’ll go, if you don’t mind waiting to leave until after four. The funeral’s at two.” Sheer will power kept him from asking her to attend Steve’s ceremony at his side. He’d already asked too much of her last night.

“Okay.” She flashed a quick smile and leaned in to brush a kiss across his cheek. With an affectionate squeeze of his hand, she hurried to the door. “I have to go. Now. I’ll come by around four-thirty.”

“Wait, I’ll—”

She was out his front door before he could finish telling her he’d drive. For several moments he stood motionless, staring at that closed barrier, listening to the rumble of her engine in his drive. She’d left out something. The instincts that could fish out truth in a bucket of lies picked up on her hurried departure like a heat-seeking missile. What, he couldn’t begin to guess. But she hadn’t told him everything.

He shook off the suspicion. Rhiannon possessed a heart of gold. Whatever she was keeping to herself couldn’t be significant. Besides, he’d just effectively terminated his right to care. He’d told her this had no future, made it clear he didn’t do permanent. A fact she undoubtedly knew given the number of times he frequented her flower shop, but he’d felt compelled to drive home. If she had secrets, that was her business not his.

Not like he didn’t possess his own.

Sighing, he turned for the stairs and a very necessary hot shower. Already his body was in knots, the anxiety over Steve’s funeral setting in. Last night it had been so easy to forget. Well, not forget, but cope. Rhiannon filled the holes of loss and sealed them shut. Hell, one look at her sewed the gaping seams closer together.

What was it about that woman? How had she, an angel more or less, stitched him back together?

He hit the faucets and peeled off his shorts. As he stepped beneath the steamy spray, he closed his eyes and focused on the pelting of water against his tense muscles. His thoughts summoned her lithe body, the curves that fit so precisely in his hands and softened all the rest of him. Her bright blue gaze blazed against the back of his eyelids, full of passion he couldn’t remember witnessing in another woman’s eyes. His chest tightened at the vibrant memory, but discomfort didn’t come with the constriction. If anything, the sudden lack of space behind his ribs brought contentment.

He knew how she’d pulled him back together. Knew it as certainly as he knew his name, rank, and that Monday morning he and Andrew had to question a suspect over on Wrightsboro Lane. Problem was, if he acknowledged it, he was equally certain he’d never be the same again. That somehow, Rhiannon would mark him. And those marks would become agonizing scars when she realized his darker nature.

Chapter Ten

Rhiannon barreled inside her apartment like Drandar himself was on her heels. She slammed the door shut, leaned back against it, and expelled a deep breath. Home. Safe. For now, Mick was safe. It had nearly torn her in half trying to escape his house. How in the world was she ever going to make it through a drive into the mountains and a night of camping? She squeezed her eyes shut with a grimace. She didn’t have a choice. All she could hope was that her brothers would understand the way her soul tortured her and help keep Mick at bay.

Camping might not even be an issue once Mick discovered why he was there. She could very well be curled up in a sleeping bag beside her twin tonight.

“Dáire?” Her voice shook in the quiet.

When he didn’t answer, she slowly opened her eyes and looked around the unlit front room. Her camping gear rested in a neat pile at the end of the couch—duffle bag, rolled tent, hiking boots with a touch of mud. He’d left without her. Proof he wasn’t coping well with the possibility she might choose mortality and separate herself from him. Sorrow twisted the aching spot behind her ribs.

Her gaze fell to the journal on the coffee table, their mother’s pages resting atop the bound cover. Power shimmered from the ancient writings, the iridescent glow like a bright beacon in the dim light. She moved to the couch and eased into the cushions, one hand hovering over the preserved papyrus. A wave of fury roiled through her as the demonic portion of her being recognized the threat those intricate pages of runes held. She gasped against the force of rage, shuddered as her stomach churned.

Dáire shouldn’t have left the ritual behind. It was far too tempting to shred the pages into bits and toss the fragments into the fireplace. Destroying the ritual would be easier, and the parts of Drandar that he gave to his children would reign eternally.

Determined not to cave to the darkness, Rhiannon turned away from the runic manuscript. With Mick out of sight, she still possessed strength to hold true to the blessing of her mother’s light. She wouldn’t destroy the one thing that offered hope. She didn’t have a choice. Mick might be a skilled cop, but even he couldn’t survive the full power of a demon, and Rhiannon refused to be the one to snuff out his life.

Love and her own heartbreak aside, Mick was too good a man to die.

She grabbed the phone off the end table and dialed Dáire.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he answered on the second ring. Despite his warm words, his greeting held a trace of strain.

“Where are you?”

“Heading up to pick up Cian and Miranda. I didn’t know when you’d be back, or I’d have packed your SUV. How are you doing? Is Mick with you?”

She shook her head. “He has to attend his stepfather’s funeral.”

A long pause drifted through the line. Then, a smattering of undisguised hope crept into his voice as he hesitantly asked, “Are we going through with this tonight?”

That trace emotion made Rhiannon’s heart twist even more. Separating herself from Dáire would be the most difficult thing she’d ever done. She didn’t
want
to. But now, with the stakes raised and Mick’s safety on the line, she didn’t possess another option. Words rushed out, the only answer she could give. “I’m in love with him.”

“Aw, shit, Rhi.” The music in the background came to an abrupt stop. “Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not okay. It feels like I’m being ripped in two.”

“You want me to come back and get you?”

“You can’t,” she murmured. “I have to pick him up after four.”

Another long span of silence passed, and the music began again, the faint tones of radio telling her he was still behind the wheel. “So he’s coming with you. I guess this is it then, huh?” He let out a tense laugh. “Mick gets my sister, and I get a spare room at Belen’s.”

“It’s not like that, Dáire,” Rhiannon hurried to assure. “This isn’t a permanent thing.”

“Mortality is pretty damn near permanent, Rhi. Until, of course, you die. Unlike the rest of us. Who won’t.”

She flinched at the icy energy that slammed into her despite the distance between them. He was hurt, and she’d give anything to take that from him. Anything to not be the
cause
of Dáire’s pain.

“You don’t have to move in with Belen.
Mick and I
aren’t permanent. I’ll still be here in our apartment.”

“That son of a bitch!”

Dáire’s violent curse nearly made Rhiannon drop the phone. She jumped, then frowned as an angry stream of ancient Selgovae filled her ears. “Dáire, stop. This isn’t his fault. You can’t blame him.”

“The hell I can’t, Rhi! He’s got a dozen women to choose from—as evidenced by his numerous stops at your shop. He’s no fool. He damn well had to have known you had it bad for him, and he took advantage of you. He played you, and now he’s taking you from me. Who knows when we’ll find another manuscript. It could be months.
Years
.”

Struck by the unexplainable need to defend Mick, Rhiannon clenched a fist in her lap. “I didn’t have to stay last night, Dáire. I knew the risks. I chose to take them. You can’t fault Mick. I’m a grown woman.”

“Crap, I’m at Cian’s. We’ll talk about this later. You better hope Mick Farrell doesn’t say a damn word about giving up his blood. If he does, Rhi, I swear to you, I’ll kill him.”

The line went dead in Rhiannon’s ear. Great. Without even meaning to, she’d put the two people who meant the most to her at odds. Mick didn’t even know what he was walking into. Chances of him sitting back and offering a vein weren’t likely.